The A Team
by Inks Inc
Summary: Separated by hundreds of miles & vastly different specialities, Team Gibbs and Team Burke have never crossed paths. But with a suspected former Petty Officer burglarising New York, the White Collar division has no choice but to call upon the cavalry. To catch a dangerous criminal, NCIS and WC must work hand in hand. Sounds simple, right? Wrong. WARNING:Spanking/Corporal Punishment
1. All in the Name

Scorching the paper he held with his gaze, Gibbs transitioned into staring in utter incredulity at an utterly indifferent Leon Vance. It was outrageous, this proposition. He didn't do a tap dance for the feds. Ever.

It was _ludicrous._

Even though he was a man of few words, he was rarely _stuck_ for them. In the current moment however, verbal communication simply failed him. Glancing back down at the approved request in his hand, he shook his head vehemently.

"No" he eventually growled, as if this would solve everything.

Surprise, surprise.

It didn't.

Raising a delicate brow, Leon leant back in his expensive chair and interlocked his fingers under his chin. Staring almost thoughtfully at his most hot headed of agents, he bit the lining of his cheek to keep in the laughter that threatened to burst from him.

"Yes" he countered, with a firmness that belied the very tickled funny bone he was experiencing. It was a rare feat to have a borderline speechless LJ Gibbs in his office, and the peace, if anything, was most comforting.

The same muted man ran a hand through his silvery hair in agitation as he scowled with a ferocity that would sour milk as it poured directly from an udder.

"Leon-"

Another raised brow.

" _Director_ " the younger man corrected, ignoring with an acquired skill the tightening of his agent in charge's jaw in response.

" _Director_ " Gibbs grudgingly ground out, "this is a bad idea. We do not _know_ these…" he glanced down again in disgust, "these _people._ I don't want them around _my_ people."

He read the same passage he had read five times and frowned deeper.

" _White Collar_ " he muttered disparagingly, "what kind of a place is that? What are they, _accountants_? Beauticians? Are they coming here to give DiNozzo a manicure or what?"

The lining of Vance's cheek was beginning to pulsate in protest as he bit down even more forcefully.

The look of utter disgust on the Marine's face was priceless.

"They are specialists" he answered calmly, "they deal with, as you may have gathered, white collar crime. Fraud, investment schemes, high end heists, etc etc.

Gibbs felt his bottom jaw part with its upper counterpart as he gaped once more.

"Paper pushers" he mumbled faintly, "you want _me_ to babysit glorified bean counters?"

Before Vance could answer, a piece of small print suddenly caught Gibbs' eye and he scanned it rapidly. The blue eyes increased in size with every vowel processed, and the Director knew what he was reading.

A small droplet of blood leaked from his now battered inner cheek.

"This…this say's that one of them is a _criminal"_ Gibbs thundered, "a _virtuoso_ criminal at that." He looked up in absolute ire, noting instantly the now barely suppressed look of amusement adorning his superior's face.

Shaking his head slowly, he quickly verified what he had just read.

There had been no mistake. His eyesight was no worse than when he had entered the infernal office a mere ten minutes ago.

"Is this a punishment?" he suddenly queried suspiciously, "are you still pissed at me because of that screw up on the Fairfax investigation?"

At this, Vance couldn't help but chuckle as he shook his head in the negative. "No Gibbs, it's not a punishment, it's a legitimate request from a reputable branch of the FBI, and we are _going_ to be gracious hosts."

He frowned for a moment, before recovering.

"But thank you for reminding me about the Fairfax fiasco. I'd nearly forgotten about that, but now you mention it, we're a team down for next weeks on call. Thank you for volunteering yourself and your people."

He concluded with a smirk, and continued to observe a now reddening with temper, Gibbs.

"We _just_ took the last on call and-"

Leon held up a hand, and Gibbs swallowed the rest of his retort, nearly choking on the effort.

"Do I need to explain to you the various ways in which this Agency was poorly reflected in that investigation?" he asked sweetly.

This time, it was the elder man's inner cheek that suffered, as he bit back an angry response and admitted defeat.

This whole situation was going from bad to worse.

"Good" Leon nodded, "now, Agent Burke and Consultant Caffrey will arrive in three days. They are staying in a nearby hotel, and will report for observation at eight am on Monday morning. They are to be a fly on the wall in everything your team does, and you will not exclude them from any element or fail to answer any queries they may have."

He paused once again, if only to savour the rapidly dejected expression that was spreading quickly across his Agent's face.

"Their investigation crosses into military territory as you know, but they are unfamiliar with the nuances. You will assist them in any way you can, is that clear?"

There was a stiff and tense quiet as Gibbs worked through the various retorts he would dearly love to offer, but after having already said too much and landing his team with yet another on call, he found himself nodding.

Albeit with the enthusiasm of a damp squid.

"Yes Director" he sighed, before gesturing to the door. "We done here? Until such time as these…these _collar_ people get here, we have work to do."

Waving his hand towards said door in a permissive gesture, Vance inclined his head politely.

"Thank you for your understanding, Agent Gibbs."

Growling under his breath, the irate man jerked his head at the poorly concealed joke, and stormed from the office. Careering down the stairs, his spirits were _not_ improved by the sights and sounds of every single one of his people goofing off in the bull pen.

Passing Abby first, he glared at her and jerked his head towards the elevator.

"Lab is still downstairs Abbs, why don't you go and check on it."

Rolling her eyes when his back was turned and gauging his temperament, Abby shot the remaining members of Team Gibbs a sympathetic glance before meandering back to her own haunt.

Tim and Ziva had the good sense to drop their heads into the files they were supposed to be working on, but Tony, being Tony, decided he just _had_ to finish the meticulously crafted paper aeroplane he was fashioning.

Sighing, Gibbs strode to his desk and yanked it out of his hands with a scorching stare. About to crumple it up angrily, he stopped short when he saw the wounded expression on his second in command's face.

He really _was_ good at making the damned things.

"Get back to work DiNozzo" he settled for, striding back to his own desk and depositing the offending model into his top desk drawer.

As silence descended, he groaned as he realised he had to deliver two bouts of unpleasant news.

Clearing his throat, he scrubbed a hand over his face as three sets of eyes immediately rested upon him.

"We just caught next weeks on call for the Fairfax ordeal."

As the collective groan went up, he sighed internally. They were all tired as it was, and another bout of tedious on call well warranted their sounds of displeasure.

"I know" he agreed quietly, "but we all know that what went on down there wasn't ok, so let's just get through this and forget it, alright?"

Another moan of irritation went up, but heads nodded in reluctant agreement nonetheless.

"And…another thing" he continued crankily, "any of you ever heard of the White Collar division of the FBI?"

He made a mental note to make an infuriated to call to Tobias, as Ziva and Tony shook their heads. Tim, however, nodded his.

"Yeah boss, they're basically the financial division. Pretty technical stuff. Though they do a lot of art crime as well."

Nodding curtly, Gibbs slammed his computer into action.

"Well, two of their… _Agents_ will be joining us on Monday morning for a few days, seems they've got themselves a military lead in their investigation and need a hand figuring out to work a Corps connection."

He didn't feel the need to inform them that one of the arriving guests was a freaking _felon._

He scowled at his inoffensive monitor, before arching a brow in McGee's direction.

"Do me a favour Tim, and keep them as far away from me as possible?"

The junior Agent snorted as he nodded. Gibbs' impatience for all things technical and finicky was notorious. He, on the other hand, thought the federal division could be quite interesting and had no trouble liaising with them.

Silence reigned in the bull pen as McGee got back to work, and Ziva and Tony reluctantly dropped their gaze back into their files.

Gibbs continued to stare angrily at his monitor, the cogs of his mind whirring at a rather alarming speed.

 _White Collar_ he thought scathingly, jabbing the escape key with a brute force, _what in the hell_ _kind of a stupid name is that?_

He stood abruptly, abandoning his pretence of case reports.

He needed coffee.

Little did he know, that a near three hundred miles away, there was a matching level of disquiet at the arranged marriage of sorts.

In the glass panelled office of Peter Burke's domain, Neal Caffrey sat rigidly still in his chair and stared mutinously at a supremely calm handler.

"Who _are_ these people?" he reiterated disdainfully, glancing down at the confirmation letter he held from some kind of…some kind of _boot camp._

Raising a brow and sipping indifferently from his mug, Peter swallowed slowly.

"Like I said, they're a naval investigative agency. They deal with crimes with an army or navy element."

Blue eyes rolled heavily.

"…and _why_ do _we_ have to go _there?"_

Brown eyes rolled right back.

"Because I say so" the elder man replied simply, throwing down his newspaper as he gave it up as a bad job. There was no way Neal was going to take this without a fight.

"The army element in _our_ case surely doesn't warrant a-"

Peter held up a silencing hand.

"It does. It does warrant a consult. A fairly lengthy one at that. We have no experience here, and I'm not about to let an armed, rampant thief carry on his happy ways because _you_ don't like field trips."

Neal scoffed.

"I _do_ like field trips" he argued, "it's just my _travel bug_ has been somewhat restrained recently."

Just in case his point wasn't clear enough, he gestured needlessly to his ankle.

Smiling despite himself, Peter took a more placating tone.

"Well then, think of this as a great opportunity to get out of New York for a while. It's not as if they come up every day now is it?"

As if pondering that statement, Neal tilted his head to the side thoughtfully.

Peter suddenly realised his mistake.

His dire mistake.

Holding up another hand, he shook his head furiously.

"Oh no. Oh no no, that anklet stays _on._ You stay with me, or in my direct line of sight at _all times._ "

A smile was beginning to spread across the kids face and Peter groaned loudly. How _stupid_ could he be?

"Neal, no-"

Standing up, with a glow that definitely hadn't been present a few minutes ago, the younger man held up a hand of his own.

Two hands, actually.

"Peter" he grinned, with his toothiest smile, "you're so right. This _is_ a great opportunity. I'm really looking forward to it, _thank you."_

Standing himself, Peter frowned heavily in the direction of his beaming charge. Leaning over the desk slightly, he arched a warning brow.

"Neal. This is your _one_ and _only_ warning" he began sternly, glancing down at his copy of the confirmation letter. "I've never worked with this Agency, or this Agent…Gibbs, before, and I don't want _anything_ leaving them with a bad impression. Do you understand?"

Those dazzlingly white teeth merely made their presence more pressingly known.

"Jeez" the kid sighed dramatically, "it's as is if you don't _trust_ me Peter." He placed an emotional hand over his heart, "you _wound_ me."

Feeling his heart sink as the sheer realisation of keeping Neal in toe and in line in a new, large city, Peter's brow furrowed further.

"Not right now I don't" he growled in warning tones, "but so help me, if you put _one_ foot out of line in DC, I _will_ wound you. Are we clear?"

Laughing confidently, Neal merely widened his hands in that feigned innocence that so often precipitated his many bizarre stunts.

Glancing down at his letter once more, the young art connoisseur suddenly snapped a droopingly sardonic salute.

"Sir, yes sir!"

With that, he ducked with a chuckle as Peter gently threw an empty water bottle at him in exasperated fondness, and sped from the room, a bounce clearly evident in his step.

Throwing himself back into his chair, the Agent in charge ran a hand over his face and groaned slightly.

Maybe…maybe he hadn't really thought this all the way through. He ran eyes over the letter in his hand and sighed.

It was too late to back out now. They flew out in a few days.

He'd have to just hope for the best. Grabbing a needed file, he threw himself into work but couldn't help the lingering doubts that had surfaced.

 _NCIS…_ he found himself pondering quietly, _the hell kind of a name is that anyway?_

….

TBC

….

A/N: Ok, so to be quite honest, I'm super nervous about posting this. I've never done a crossover before, and I'm not entirely sure I can do one its justice, but I'm going to try anyway! I just wrote this up quickly to set the tone. Maybe this will be a multi chaptered fic if I can get the hang of it. This story isn't related to any of my other NCIS or WC stories.

-Inks.


	2. Meet and Greet

El stood in her hallway, moderately buckled over with the laugher as her husband continued to rant and rave about the amount of luggage Neal had insisted on bringing with him for what was intended to be a relatively short trip.

"Honey, calm down" she eventually spluttered, "you know Neal…he just likes to dress to impress."

Red in the head from the effort of heaving his one, sensible case and the kid's many, insensible cases to the front door, Peter glowered.

"Ridiculous" he mumbled faintly, straightening up and feeling a twinge in his back "utterly ridiculous."

Before El could answer, the cause of her husband's growling came bounding down the stairs, sunglasses clutched in his hands.

"I _knew_ left them here" Neal beamed as he landed next to the amassed suitcases, "thanks for getting my bags Peter" he grinned, "you're a real sweetheart."

The now snarling man's retort was drowned out as his wife pulled his ward in for a hug, amidst hearty laughter.

"Don't you go giving my poor husband any grief while you're away now" she warned light heartedly, "he doesn't like new places as it is."

Neal's eyes twinkled as she pulled Peter in for an identical hug.

He _was_ really looking forward to a trip. If you discounted the brief stint in his tropical island paradise, it had literally been years since he'd left New York, and he was itching to get going. He hoped to wrap up that which needed to be wrapped up as quickly as possible, and spend the remaining time exploring DC museums.

He'd have to persuade Peter of course, but if they'd all learned anything, it was that he was good at that.

A taxi horn suddenly blared through his thoughts, and he hastened to help with his many bags as he and his more-than-just-a-handler lumbered out to throw them in the trunk. With two last farewells to a bemused looking El, and a pat to Satchmo's head, they were on their way.

A short ride later, and they were meandering into the airport, Neal chattering nonstop about the various art tours DC had to offer, and Peter tuning out as best he could.

Throwing themselves down into metal seats, the younger of the duos' excited chattering finally caught the elder's attention, and not in a good way.

"There is no way we have time for all that Neal" he interjected in exasperation "this isn't a holiday you know, we're going here to work. Not so you can amuse yourself because you're out of your radius."

He instantly regretted his words somewhat as the slightly hurt expression spread across the kids face, as he nodded miserably, before averting his gaze to the ground.

"…alright, alright. Don't pull that face" he conceded with a chuckle, "if we have time, we can go to…to these fancy whatsits."

As Neal's now beaming face surfaced, he held up a hand in clear warning.

"That's _if_ and _only_ if you refrain from wreaking havoc while we're out here" he conditioned firmly, "I do not want to have to have an unpleasant discussion with you while we're away. Understand?"

Understanding all too well what an "unpleasant discussion" was, Neal nodded fervently.

"I'll be just on my _best_ behaviour" he drawled with a feigned solemnity and a raised hand in oath, "Scouts' honour."

Rolling his eyes and muttering "if you'd have been mine, you _would_ have been in the Scouts instead of prison" Peter watched fondly as Neal darted up and went in search of a book for the plane.

It wasn't long before the two men were on the very early morning flight, and as Peter turned to his protégée of sorts as the breakfast menu rolled around, he grinned fondly when he saw the kid was passed out asleep.

Throwing a blanket over him, he ordered quietly for the both of them and the rest of the plane ride went without incident.

Prodding and poking a less than willing Neal into consciousness as the craft began its descent, Peter ran a hand over his own groggy eyes. He felt like he'd been on the go for days on end, and it was only just coming on eight am.

Bidding the air hostess a polite goodbye, and having no choice but to subtly drag Neal by her by the collar as he turned on his charm, they were soon blinking in the early DC air.

Queuing for, and collecting their bags, they stood in the hustling and bustling of the manic airport and looked at each other.

"What now then?" asked Neal slightly crankily, he really _had_ like that pretty airhostess. Trust Peter to show him up.

Glancing around him, Peter reached into his pocket for his cell. "We're supposed to meet a …" he checked his email quickly, "Tony DiNozzo, Special Agent."

He glanced around again, looking for someone who looked like they were looking for someone else and came up short.

Neal snorted, his aversion to early mornings and his still lingering ire at the interruption to what he was sure was going to be a successful number gain souring his usual mood somewhat.

"Kind of a surname is that? _DiNozzo?_ It _…_ sounds like a disease."

Peter glowered as he loosened his tie.

"Don't start Neal. I know you don't like mornings, but there's no need to be rude. It's very kind of them to send someone to meet us."

The younger man merely rolled his eyes, and began messaging Moz a warning not to completely eradicate his wine supply while he was gone.

He was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a slightly breathless, and panting man. Somewhere similar in age to himself, with light brown hair and green eyes.

Peter instantly held out a cordial hand as the stranger displayed some credentials, and smiled his warm smile.

"Agent DiNozzo?"

Turning to shake Neal's hand, the new arrival shook his head.

"No Sir, I'm afraid Agent DiNozzo got err…waylaid, so I came to collect you instead. I'm Agent McGee. Tim."

Taking an instant liking to this polite young man, Peter nodded his thanks and jerked his head towards a silent reforming con beside him.

"Well I'm Peter, and this is my…consultant, Neal Caffrey."

His tone, although pleasant and light to Tim, carried an undertone of irritation that the consultant he spoke of hadn't introduced himself. Realising that he needed to keep in Peter's good books if he had any hope at all of going anywhere other than wherever he was about to be dragged to, Neal flashed his dazzling smile.

"Nice to meet you Tim."

McGee started for a moment, slightly taken aback by the sudden appearance of a vast number of very white, perfect teeth.

Smiling back, he began leading the way out of the airport. Peter seemed nice enough he concluded internally, but Neal…he reminded him of Tony, and why, he didn't know.

Maybe it was the teeth.

Shaking his head slightly, and realising he was being slightly ridiculous, he politely took the visitors luggage and threw it in the trunk of the agency car. He raised a brow to himself at the amount of luggage Neal laid claim to, but said nothing.

Before long, they were all motoring on the way to the Navy Yard. Neal came into his own on the ride, and Tim found himself instantly warming to the charismatic man.

Perhaps he had been too rash.

Just because someone had nice teeth, and oddly perfect hair, didn't mean they were another Tony.

It didn't mean that he was going to end up with his hands super glued to anywhere they shouldn't be.

Eventually pulling the car into its allotted space, he assured the two that they would get a lift to their hotel as soon as they could. For now, it was time to meet the team. Guiding the two guests through the various security checks, it wasn't long before they were nearing the bullpen.

Peter, for his part, was quite impressed. He hadn't had much knowledge of NCIS before, and he liked what he saw. Neal, was also impressed. With the vast array of beautiful women that were darting here, there and everywhere.

There _was_ something to be said for DC other than culture.

Seeing his ward straining his neck as a particularly stunning brunette walked by, whilst Tim was kindly catching them up on their role in the case, he shot him a dire warning look.

It was met with an unapologetic grin and a devious bouncing in the blue eyes, and Peter had to smile. Even if it was born out of exasperation.

Truth be told, he was happy that Neal was getting out of New York. He hated that his intense contributions to their team couldn't be formally rewarded with a loosening of his radius and restrictions, so this was a welcome distraction for the kid.

All of a sudden they found themselves in a communal bull pen, not that different from their own, excepting the horrifically garish orange colour that adorned the walls.

He caught the look of utter disdain for the décor out of the corner of his eye, and chuckled to himself.

If there was one thing Neal just couldn't accept, it was a poor decorative pallet.

Tim was just pointing out where they could set up for the duration of their stay, when a tall young woman and an older man suddenly strode into the bull pen.

Judging by the way that Agent McGee suddenly straightened up, Peter and Neal instantly deduced that this coffee clutching individual must be the boss-man.

As Peter's eyes were appraising Gibbs, Neal's…were firmly on Ziva David.

His breath caught slightly in his throat. She was _beautiful._ Her dark eyes and her tanned face instantly caught his attention, and he shot her his most dazzling smile.

That smile faltered somewhat as she answered with a polite, small twitching of her lips, before turning her attention back to her own team.

Jolting back to reality, Neal quickly grasped the extended hand that was being offered, and looked up into the face of who he assumed was this Agent Gibbs fellow.

His breath caught once more.

There was something…vaguely terrifying about this man. He instantly gave off the vibe of a man who could survive in the wilderness with nothing but a canteen of water and a spear.

Shaking his head slightly to rid himself of these odd thoughts, and not wanting to let Peter down, Neal offered a very polite smile.

"Nice to meet you, Sir" he murmured quietly, in response to the rather brusque introduction of "Gibbs."

Just Gibbs?

 _Jeesh._

Blue eyes flashed in his direction, as a swig of coffee was consumed. This man did _not_ seem thrilled to meet him.

Neal's mind worked quickly, and came up with a few reasons.

He was old, and therefore irritable. He was a clear coffee addict, and perhaps this was his first fix. Or…perhaps he was privy to the fact that he wasn't exactly a Quantico graduate.

His thoughts were interrupted by the response to his thoroughly polite introduction.

"Don't call me Sir."

Neal blinked, and looked at Peter overtly. He was busy chatting to Ziva and Tim, and wasn't paying any attention to the fact that his informant was in the burning gaze of one of the most intimidating men he had ever met.

"Uhh…ok then."

Neal flushed, as the man turned away and flopped down into a chair.

"Uhh….ok then?" Why did he _say_ that? He was Neal Caffrey for heaven's sake, he surely should be able to come up with something better than _uhh, ok then._

Edging slightly closer to Peter, he tried to put the odd man out of his mind as he was clearly letting them get acquainted with his people.

At the other side of the desk, and over the rim of his third coffee cup, Gibbs was appraising.

Quickly.

Peter, he liked. That Neal guy, was another story. He watched on silently as this new kid ran mischievous eyes over Ziva, clearly drinking in her appearance, and his dubious first impressions grew stronger.

He didn't want a criminal in his building. More than that, he _definitely_ didn't want an _exceedingly handsome_ criminal around his girls.

He had to chuckle to himself quietly, as Ziva resolutely ignored him.

 _That's my girl_ he thought in relief, as he heaved himself back out of his chair when it was clear that McGee and Ziva were now adequately acquainted with their new arrivals.

His brow furrowed slightly, as he heard that Burke fellow warmly thank Tim once more for collecting them.

Running a quick eye over the bullpen, Gibbs quickly came to the right conclusion that DiNozzo hadn't stepped foot in the building yet.

Grinding his teeth, he reached into his pocket for his cell.

Tony was late.

He hated _late._

Just as he was about to irritably punch in the requisite speed dial, the elevator pinged and a breathless, windswept looking DiNozzo barrelled into the bullpen.

He watched silently as his second in command instantly shook hands with Burke and his…criminal, before roving a gaze over the bullpen, and failing to see Gibbs due to the large television stand that had been left behind from another case.

His suddenly urgent tone was directed to Tim, who tried to warn him with his eyes.

He was unsuccessful.

"McGee, please tell me you covered for me with-"

A relatively loud crack suddenly drifted over the bull pen, as Tony closed his eyes in chagrin and rubbed the back of his now stinging head, before looking tentatively behind him.

"Uhh…morning Boss…"

Two sets of eyes widened, as the other various sets of eyes didn't react at all.

Peter and Neal glanced at each other in shock, before the surprise wore off the elder of the two, and his initial reaction turned to a light chuckle.

"Now bud _"_ he murmured quietly, turning to unpack his briefcase, with his lips twitching at the kid's horrified expression, "You _still_ want to complain about _me?_ "

Neal swallowed and shook his head.

Hard.

"Please don't leave me alone with that man Peter!"

….

TBC

…

A/N: This is just a setting the scene and meeting the folks type chapter. I've decided to take this in a multi-chaptered direction like my other NCIS/WC stories, but this one doesn't follow on from any of them.

This is super fun to write, and whilst I'm still nervous at the idea of a cross over, it's probably one of the long haul.

Hope you guys enjoyed and please let me know what you think/anything you want to see.

-Inks.


	3. Off the Clock

Neal trailed behind Peter as they tagged along to the call out the NCIS team had just received. They had a new homicide victim in their current case. The army base they were on wasn't exactly the friendliest place on earth, and the less than friendly Gibbs was currently having it out with some equally less than friendly sergeant.

Neal felt his jaw slacken slightly. He'd seen jurisdictional disputes before, but nothing quite like this.

He watched with widening eyes the way the hard ass looking soldier eventually backed down under the freakishly intense stare of their obviously reluctant host. All too soon they were making their unhindered way through the quiet base.

His mind wandered slightly as he appraised his recent introductions.

Agent McGee was fine he supposed, in a way, he sort of reminded him of Jones. Ziva…he liked. A lot. More than a lot.

The rather insane but very likeable forensic scientist he'd briefly met had him in transitioning from bewilderment to laughter in a matter of seconds.

Dr Mallard… was the only one of them who seemed to know what fine art or precious artefacts were, and he'd enjoyed chatting to him.

Until he'd gotten a bit….reminiscent.

Then it was sure as hell hard to get away from him.

Then there was Agent DiNozzo. They'd hit it off from the get go. He was definitely a firm favourite. So much so, they'd already arranged to go out for beers after they clocked off from the work day.

Snapping back to attention in the midst of Peter's glare, he forced himself to be interested in the investigation unfolding around him.

Even if it gave him the creeps.

He was suited to White Collar crime, because he _was_ a reforming White Collar criminal. This…murder business was dreadfully unseemly.

No class.

Nothing.

He shook his head and steadied himself. They were in the victims house now, and whilst he would rather be anywhere else, his seamless manners dictated that he be alert.

His eyes roved over the scene, and his stomach flipped somewhat.

Peter only seemed relatively perturbed, with years of various departments under his belt. Gibbs' team however seemed supremely unperturbed and Neal felt a grudging admiration for the grey haired man.

He listened as Gibbs' himself ran down a varying degree of similarities between the investigation they were currently within, and their investigation back in New York.

Marine's apparently had a special way of killing that was borderline sui generis to their vocation. An efficiently broken neck and removal of all physical evidence from the scene, all carried out within the spectrum of three to four minutes.

Peter scratched notes furiously as he listened.

Neal's stomach did another little funny turn, and he lamented the tuna melt that was careering around his gut.

Their supposed ex marine criminal hadn't killed anyone yet, but he had left a trail of hospital victims in his wake.

Their necks had all born signs of trauma, but had stopped short at severance.

They would recover, but one more jot of pressure, and it would have been a completely different tale.

Peter's conclusion was that the man hadn't killed before, and that he couldn't quite bring himself to go through with the act of murder. All the victims in their case had been tellers or clerks who had either refused to cooperate with the armed man's demands, or had been too slow in doing so.

The Burke gut had concluded that the man was spiralling, and it was only a matter of time before his very tentative hold his temper utterly snapped, and murder would be on the cards.

Neal himself remained utterly unconvinced of the military connection, and was firmly unconvinced that this little educational trip was actually necessary.

His buzz about DC had taken somewhat of a dampening with Agent Gibbs' attitude towards him.

Such attitude _especially_ soured if he dared talk to Abby or Ziva unnecessarily.

Or necessarily.

He shook his head once more and reminded himself that Neal Caffrey was _not_ fazed by the poor manners, or hasty judgements of…uncouth people.

…this Gibbs fellow was _definitely_ in that category.

Smiling slightly to himself at that, he wrote a few notes as well, mostly to appease a now glowering Peter.

Peter for his part, was rapidly placing the information coming from both Agent Gibbs and the NCIS Medical Examiner to good use.

Their suspect, from hazy eye witness reports, used military jargon to issue orders to his victims. He policed his brass. He only fired warning shots. He never left a single fibre, a single hair. Witnesses described a strong smell of cigarette smoke from him, but they had never retrieved any fresh butts from the crime scenes.

He was meticulous.

Peter continued to quiz Agent McGee about other aspects of their investigation, having taken a supreme liking to the softly spoken, well mannered young man.

He _had_ hoped that the kid would rub off on Neal, but it was already clear that Neal was more comfortable gravitating towards Agent DiNozzo.

The one Agent Gibbs kept smacking upside the head.

Tony reminded Peter forcibly of Neal. The way he went off on random tangents, the way he lost focus every time a pretty girl walked past. The way he talked back.

He had groaned to himself when he heard the two making after work plans, and he couldn't testify to it, but he was pretty sure he'd heard familiar sounds of disapproval from Agent Gibbs.

He could of course forbid Neal from going, but he didn't have the heart to.

It was the kid's first time out of New York in a _long_ time, and he deserved some fun. He just fervently would have preferred he go out and have fun with Tim instead.

Or that Abby girl…she seemed nice, if a bit…eccentric.

But oh no…it just _had_ to be Tony.

He had set a firm two mile radius from the hotel, and was trusting Neal not to break it.

Sighing at the thoughts of it, he moved off to examine the blood spatter on the wall, feeling a little bout of nausea.

He was slightly rusty with violent crime, but determined not to let it show, sensing that Neal was feeling a bit green at the guts and gore and wanting to set a good example.

Watching Agent Burke duck down to take note of something or other, Gibbs sighed. He liked Peter; he seemed like a decent enough kind of guy.

But he _still_ was distinctly unhappy with the presence of his criminal protégée on _his_ crime scene.

He was _definitely_ unhappy that the felon had organised drinks with Tony at the end of the work day. He really did not need DiNozzo hanging around with that smooth talking, toothily grinning kid.

He saw, and disapproved heavily, of the way the young man talked back to his boss, blatantly ignored obvious instructions.

He was a law unto himself, and Gibbs didn't like it. Not one bit.

He was definitely _not_ what you'd call a good influence, and a bad influence was definitely not something Tony needed.

Grateful at least that Ziva seemed to have an aversion to the boy, and that Abby's contact with him was minimal, he just hoped that the new arrival wouldn't drag his second in command into any sort of bother tonight.

Sighing, he turned his attention back to the scene, but kept his peripheral vision trained firmly on Neal.

An hour or so later, the two New York visitors had pads full of notes and were thanking his team sincerely for their help.

Well, Peter was. Before nudging Neal heavily, who then followed suit.

Gibbs grinned to himself.

At least the kid _could_ follow instructions when prompted.

Sealing off the scene, Team Burke and Team Gibbs bade each other adieu until tomorrow, with Tony and Neal heading off together.

Much to their respective boss' chagrin.

Shaking hands, each could have sworn they saw a similar look of trepidation in the other's eyes and scowled internally.

Getting into his rental car, Peter allowed the internal scowl to become external.

What was wrong with Neal? It was that _Tony_ that Agent Gibbs should be concerned about, not Neal.

It wasn't _Neal_ goofing off at the crime scene, spouting inappropriate and insensitive movie quoted here, there and everywhere.

It wasn't _Neal_ irritating his fellow investigators with wildly actionable comments about their personal and…sexual lives.

It wasn't _Neal_ who had to be reminded that the time for recalling fondly last night's conquests was not in the midst of a criminal investigation.

Jolting the car into gear, Peter scowled even more ferociously.

Maybe his protégée of sorts would rub off on Gibbs', and put some manners on him he thought angrily.

Kicking his own car into actions, Gibbs felt his brows knit together.

The sheer audacity of it.

What the hell was wrong with Tony? It was that _Neal_ that Agent Burke should be concerned about, not Tony.

It wasn't _Tony_ that had to be reminded not to remove anything from the scene without permission.

It wasn't _Tony_ trying, and failing, to chat up the pretty neighbour. He, unlike Neal, was a fully accredited, trained and highly dependably federal agent.

It sure as hell wasn't _Tony_ sporting a freaking anklet, because it wasn't _Tony_ that was a criminal.

Pulling out of the drive, Gibbs huffed more fiercely.

Hopefully his second in command might be a good influence on Burke's puppy, and show him how decent people lead their lives.

Both men careered in different directions, without knowing that before they would meet again as scheduled, they would be forced to rejoin their paths.

Five hours after arriving back at his hotel room, just about to call it a night, Peter's cell shrilled on the bedside table.

An equal five hours after arriving back to his latest carpentry projects, Gibbs' cell shrieked out from the mason jar from where it was held captive.

Separated by about fifteen miles, each answered with their customary; "Agent Burke" and "Gibbs."

The change in complexion of both men was oddly similar as they listened to the one sided conversations that melted through the phones, starting with the customary, but _very_ hesitant; "Boss… and "Peter…"

Two cells snapped shut at roughly the same time, as two now furious men ran hands through their much abused hair.

Peter's comfortably hotel room suddenly housed a non reciprocal outburst, oozing with raw anger.

" _Damnit Neal."_

A short distance away, a similar, biting, sentiment echoed around what was a peaceful basement.

" _Aw hell DiNozzo."_

…

TBC

…

A/N: This is ridiculously fun to write, so hope you enjoyed!


	4. On the Road Again

Leafing through his well worn leather bound pad, the none too impressed officer shot another dubious look at both Tony and Neal, as they stood on the side of the busy road attaching to the freezing cold highway. He ran his gaze over the slightly younger looking one, and sighed. A real Casanova. The older one wasn't much better, but at least he wasn't dressed as if he were about to conduct at Albert Hall. Glancing at his partner, he rolled his eyes irritably as he took in the glassy look in her eyes as both suspects managed to find the time to shamelessly flirt their asses of.

"You sure you're with Agent Gibbs?" he barked once again at Tony, who reluctantly turned his attention to him and nodded. "Yeah, pretty sure…he's not someone you forget," he retorted, finding the pompous cop almost too much too stomach. Not to mention the fact that he was actively trying to have him _murdered_ by what was sure to be one pissed off gunny. Grunting as though in polite disbelief, the officer swivelled his gaze to Neal. "I may have crossed paths with _his_ boss," he growled, jerking his head in Tony's direction, "but I sure ain't ever heard of yours."

Reminding himself that throwing one's eyes up to heaven in the company of a devastatingly beautiful woman was unseemly, Neal focussed on keeping his blue spheres firmly front and centre as he nodded slowly. "Yes…" he reiterated clearly, beginning to think this guy was a tad slow on the uptake, "like I said we're from out of town. Helping on a case." He forced himself not to appear agitated by the repetition, but even for him, his temper was wearing thing. Not to mention the fact that the guy was doing his level best to have Peter kill him in cold blood.

"Hmph," the cop snorted, "well…like _I_ said, I'm only willing to chalk this up to idiots being idiots, if you really _are_ who you say you are, and I see two people who are willing to assure me that you don't make a habit of this kind of conduct." Snapping his mouth shut at the end of his rather pompous, legally suspect speech, the officer turned once more to examine Tony's credentials, as if to see what else he could throw at the grinning "agent."

Neal and Tony exchanged purposefully nonchalant and exasperated expressions, but inside each of them, panic was stirring. Gibbs, was going to be pissed. Peter, was also going to be pissed. Nuclear level pissed. On Tony's behalf, he had already had a heated discussion with his boss about his aversion to Neal, which ended in something that could be accused of being a row. Accompanied by dire declarations that he was, he would thank Gibbs to realise, a heartily good judge of character. He didn't need help in choosing his friends.

Neal had encountered a similar situation with Peter, and had politely berated him for being so judgemental. Also assuring him that he, given his previous and very lucrative profession, was more than capable of reading people. He didn't need to have them cherry picked for him. He had also laid on quite thick the "first time in a new town," angle, and Peter had conceded with warnings that he was not to break his still two mile radius. Quick calculations now, would lead him to conclude that he was about ten miles out of that two miles. Returning the eye roll Tony shot him, he winced slightly as the all too familiar, and unpleasant, butterflies began fluttering around his stomach.

He was a dead man. A dead man walking, with the price dancing on his head at that. His eyes roved over his companion. At least Tony would be ok, he mused, at least _his_ boss would just smack him upside the head and glare with those freaky eyes, and that would be that. The same, unfortunately, could _not_ be said for him. Seeing the pretty cop turning her attention away from Tony to him, he gladly indulged in the distraction. She was an ex arts student, and he rapidly found himself enjoying her company more and more, despite the sensation in his gut, and rather odd situation of meeting.

Watching as Neal chatted animatedly to Fiona, and feeling the disapproving stare of her partner upon him, Tony looked down at the ground and wished it would swallow him up. He was so dead. He found himself glancing enviously at his co-accused. That Peter was like a less British, less talkative form of Ducky. He was a _proper sweetheart_ as Abby had announced, and the most Neal could expect for this was a frown and a pat on the back. He, however, would be lucky if Gibbs didn't do him the courtesy of bringing him to pick out his own damned headstone.

His inner thoughts of how to pass through the pearly gates, and Neal's offer of freelance painting were suddenly interrupted by the arrival of two cars crunching onto the gravel beside them. Glancing around, Tony cursed himself when he properly registered the garish lights of the coffee shop beside them. He could have been prepared. He could have got the largest freaking coffee they had to offer. When you're about to be mauled by a bear, it helped to have some god damned honey. Now, he was empty handed and, judging by the look on the man's face, his prospects were bleak.

Seeing Peter's rental cruise in behind Gibbs' car, Neal frowned and tried to keep his expression otherwise neutral. This was difficult, because as thunderous as Tony's mountain lion looked, Peter managed to exude the same emotion with one, well placed, glare of steal. Both men clambered out of their cars at the same time, and to Tony and Neal's slight confusion, threw each other a look of dire irritation, before stomping over to their respective charges. With Neal suddenly finding himself close enough to Peter that he could smell shampoo from his still damp hair, and with Tony close enough to Gibbs that he could smell fresh sawdust, they both winced internally.

Taking charge of the situation before Peter could open his mouth, Gibbs raised a brow at the cop in front of him that he vaguely recognised. "What's going on here officer?" he asked, as politely as he could. He was overtly conscious of the fact that Tony must have pulled the "agent," card, otherwise they wouldn't be on the side of the road, and he wasn't keen on antagonising the situation. He knew Neal couldn't have played that card, being a _criminal_ and all. He shot him a glare, which Peter intercepted and returned, before turning back to the cop who looked moderately bemused at the sight in front of him.

"Uhh…well, Agent Gibbs," he paused, and looked over in Neal's direction, "I take it you're Agent Burke?" Nodding stiffly, with a hand on Neal's shoulder, Peter's gaze echoed Gibbs' request for information. "Uhh…ok then," the man continued, slightly off put by the animosity he could suddenly feel in the circle. "Well, we got a call from a casino just out of town, about these two," he muttered, jerking his head in the younger men's direction, who looked down guiltily. "Seems the pretty one," he continued, throwing a thumb in Neal's direction, "decided to count cards and skim them out of a damn pretty penny."

As the man paused to take a breath, Tony felt a slight stab of irritation. _He was freaking pretty, too._ Deciding against pointing this out as Gibbs subtly placed a rather heavy hand on his shoulder, he gulped down his complaint as the cop continued hanging them out to dry. "The casino is one of the few strictly no alcohol policy holding joint in the state. This genius," he rattled off, looking at Tony who groaned, "Decided to sneak in _two_ bottles of high priced scotch. Half way through the game, they were discovered, as of then unopened, by an employee who alerted management."

He glared at the two, who again ducked their heads, and read aloud from his pad. "At which point when asked to vacate the casino, a Neal Caffrey, very loudly did accuse the owner of decorating his casino with a collection of forged and stolen art works, and threatened to turn him in should their game be interrupted. During which time, it was spotted that he had been counting cards and had illegally brought about winnings in excess of _eight thousand dollars_."

Feeling Peter's grip tighten on him, Neal wondered briefly, and rather maniacally, if he could make it to the car and into the next state before he could be yanked back. The cop's voice droned on, nailing both he and Tony firmer and firmer to the chopping block. "Upon threatening to phone the authorities, an Anthony DiNozzo then assured the owner, with the aid of a federal badge no less, that they were in the midst of an authorised undercover operation. _Unfortunately for him_ , the owner happens to be a brother of the local police captain, and would have been acutely aware of any such situation. Upon informing Anthony DiNozzo of such fact," the officer paused, presumably for dramatic effect, "the two men fled the building, both snatching a bottle of scotch each from the employee who had confiscated them in the first instance."

Sucking in a breath, the tale continued. "In their haste, they knocked over a wildly expensive antique vase, the value of which pushes them into the charge of criminal damage, and-" He was cut off as Neal, who couldn't contain himself, angrily interjected. "Priceless? Are you people _blind?_ It was an imitation, a cheap imitation and-" He trailed off, as usually gentle hands dug painfully into his shoulder, and a whispered sentence floated into his ear. Paling, he looked down at the ground and clamped his mouth shut, forcing down his lamentations of knock off art and the ilk.

Eying Neal disapprovingly, joining Gibbs in doing so, the rather wearied office snapped his notepad shut with a snap. "Look, fella's," he muttered, speaking directly to the senior agent's, "this could be something, or it can be nothing. We may not be feds, but we sure as hell don't appreciate breaches of licensing laws, abuses of power and misrepresentation of public of office," he frowned heavily, "and we _sure_ don't appreciate resistance of arrest from so called officers of the law. You may have your way of doing things, but we cops have ours, and this scene tonight, is actionable. Unless, of course, I have both your fella's words that something like this won't happen on my turf again. You see?"

Peter and Gibbs exchanged a quick look, before forcibly propelling Neal and Tony behind them, to step forward and speak privately with the officer, whose partner, to both men's exasperation, was exchanging dreamy looks with the pair of them. "Listen, officer," Gibbs said, getting straight to the point, "I can assure you nothing like this will happen again with my agent. You have my word, and thank you for bringing me in and not making a thing of this. I'd like to get off now, and take him with me, if that's ok?"

It pained him to be so polite to a cop he had quickly determined to be a royal pain in the ass, but he needed the kid free and clear of any formal nonsense, and so he played ball. There was a terse silence for a moment, before the officer rather magnanimously nodded his head, and turned his attention to Peter. "Well?" he demanded brusquely, causing the normally placid Agent Burke to bite down his irritation. Clearing his throat, he cursed DC and everything and anything associated with it. In that moment, he fervently wished he was at home with his wife and dog.

"We won't even be around here much longer," he answered, as politely as he could muster. "So I can also assure you that there will be no further…incidents." There was a silence for a moment, as the cop stared steadily, before blurting out sentences that made Peter sigh. "You know he's a criminal right? You know he has a record that would blow your mind?" Beside him, hearing Gibbs snort derisively, Peter felt hot around the collar as he gritted his teeth. "He's a good kid," he responded quietly, "that's all I'm concerned about. Now, thank you for bringing this to me, but it's getting late, and I'd like to get off now as well, if that's ok?"

Nodding curtly, and jerking Fiona out of her love struck reverie as he did so, the cop shot the boy's one last look of dire disapproval before clambering into his car, and taking off. Turning in the midst of the dust that rose from the tires, Gibbs and Peter faced their guiltily shifting charges, with remarkably similar expressions. Striding forward, Gibbs summarily reached out and smacked Tony firmly upside the head. "Get…in the car. _Now,"_ he instructed fiercely, and watched in anger as the kid scrambled to obey.

Turning, he saw Neal looking at DiNozzo with an expression of extreme sympathy and had to resist the sincere temptation to reach out and smack _him_ silly as well. As it was, the temptation was removed as Peter nudged the boy in the direction of his rental, with a quiet instruction to get in. Gibbs rolled his eyes. The kid would probably get a another year or two off his sentence as a reward for his stunt, leaving Tony in the hot seat. His jaw clenched as she shook his head in disbelief at the kid's retreating back. "Problem, Gibbs?" Peter suddenly murmured with a fire that the NCIS agent hadn't heard during their short interlude. Turning, he shot the FBI agent a look of deep sarcasm.

"Oh _no_ Burke," he hissed, sounding quite unlike himself, "I'm just _thrilled_ at the idea of your pocket felon over there, leading _my_ guy into hot water the very minute he sets his damned, skinny ass tie self down on _my_ turf."

Peter glared icily in the nights light, his scowling illuminated by the street's glow, throwing an angry contrast over his face. "Excuse me?" he growled, "Neal didn't _lead_ him into anything. And Neal sure as hell wasn't the one who misrepresented a public office! I don't know what you think of laws up in these parts, but in New York, we frown on that kind of thing. Same as…oh I don't know, _smuggling liquor into an unlicensed premises_."

Gibbs' eyebrows shot so far up into his silver hair line they were in danger of falling into the general mass and never resurfacing as he glared back at the clearly seething Agent Burke.

"Counting cards, Peter? Also known as, oh I don't know, _fraud…._ how do you New York folks feel about _that?_ You could ask your boy wonder there, seeing as he knows _all_ about fraud. Glad to see that the tax dollars being spent to rehabilitate him are paying off. _Great_ job Burke, I'll make sure to send the next blue eyed, pretty boy I collar, _right_ down to you. You seem to have a real _knack_ for turning them right around."

Swallowing down a growl that formed in his throat, Peter stared with a glacial chill. "Maybe you should quit smacking _your_ pretty green eyed boy upside the damn head Gibbs, maybe then he _might_ have a bit of sense in that brain of his!" Feeling his mouth drop open slightly at the _audacity_ of it, Gibbs found himself moving slightly closer to Peter, who stood firm as hell and glared right back at him. "You have a _criminal_ for a protégée, Burke," he murmured dangerously, "and you stand there and tell _me_ how to I should discipline _my_ people? Is that it what you're saying, or am I missing something?"

Peter looked straight ahead with a coolness that belied his true feelings of pure ire. "I'm saying that _I_ don't appreciate you constantly referring to Neal as a criminal. I'm saying that perhaps, you should get your own house in order, before you criticise mine. Perhaps _then_ , you wouldn't have a god damned kid who, just by the by, is currently trying to sneak out of your car, don't you think?"

Gibbs' glaring instantly turned to wheeling, as he spun around to indeed find Tony inching out of his car. In that moment, he would have gladly rung the kid's neck. "DiNozzo," he bellowed, "get your _ass_ back into that car, right now." Paling at his discovery, and casting a miserable look at Fiona's number that he had accidentally dropped on the roadside, Tony obediently slunk back into the car. He sensed somehow that the heated discussion going on between the boss and Peter was about them, and he _may_ have been trying to get an earful. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he saw that Neal was staring at the duo with an intensity as if he were reading their lips.

Smirking slightly, Peter fished around for his keys and looked at Gibbs coolly. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow then?" he asked quietly, wishing to all hell they could call it a day and go home. Realising with a jolt of chagrin, that their bickering was childish, he wished to retain at least a _modicum_ of professionalism and get the damn job done. He could of course apologise to the man, but the constant jibes about Neal prevented him from doing so in that moment. There was so much more to Neal than this arrogant man knew, and damnit if he was going to stand by as he talked him down.

Staring with a stiff jaw, Gibbs nodded reluctantly. He wasn't about to jeopardise a case, no matter where it was, or who was leading it, because of personal differences. He bit his lip slightly as he considered the infancy of their tit for tat arguing. The very same thing he frequently slapped McGee and DiNozzo silly for. They had a job to do, and this sure wasn't helping. He very briefly considered breaking his own rule and apologising, but the scathing remarks about Tony stopped him short. No one talked about one of his like that. Except, maybe him. But… no-one else.

They walked their separate ways with a last jerky nod and cold stare, before wrenching open the doors of their respective cars and sliding in beside their respective, wide eyed miscreants. Turning the key in his ignition, Gibbs held up a silencing hand to stop the "Boss…listen man, the thing is…". Pulling his car onto the road, he once again held a hand up at the "but, it's not as bad as it sounds, that cop-". Stopping at a red light and turning to stare intently at his second in command, Gibbs shook his head slowly.

"Quiet," he murmured softly, in a tone that Tony instantly recognised did _not_ bode well for him. "I'll deal with you when I get home, and trust me, you'll have _plenty_ of time for chit chat by the time I'm through with you. Understand?"

"Yes boss," Tony muttered miserably, drooping in his seat and counting down the remaining time he had left on planet Earth. As a gulping silence immediately reigned in Gibbs' car, squawking protests were wafting around Peter's as he steered it in the opposite direction back to the hotel, with a grim line setting in on his usually open face.

"Peter…you gotta listen to me," Neal wheedled, "it's not as bad as it _sounds,_ that cop, he-". A hand was held up in a silencing gesture, as the car whipped through the now dark night. Peter's voice, laden down with disappointment wafted around the small confines, causing Neal to wince and look down at the ground.

"You broke your radius, after promising me you wouldn't. You counted cards, after that fiasco back home, where you _also_ promised me you'd never do it again. You promised me in the airport a few _days_ ago that you would do _nothing_ that would jeopardise this stay. So no, Neal, I don't want to hear it. You'll have your chance to say all you want to when we get back to the hotel, because, _trust me,_ I have plenty of questions for you. Understand?"

"Yes Peter," Neal answered morosely, turning his head to look out the window and try to remember what the trees and such, looked like. He was pretty sure it was the last time he would be seeing them for a long time, if indeed, ever again.

Both cars skidded silently along the damp roads, before identical speech rang out from behind both drivers' seats', or more accurately, _burst out_. Both the recipients had cause to jump slightly in their seats in response to the suddenness of it. Turning to look at their respective boss' in surprise, they could do nothing but shrug their shoulders slightly and gulp in response to the angry, loaded question.

"What did I _tell_ you about that _damned_ kid?"

….

TBC

….

A/N: I know there's hostility between Peter and Gibbs right now, but I _do_ intend to have them make nice. It's just super fun to write to warring, but very different, papa bears in action. Update should be soon, after I work my way through my other stories (Either _Of Sidelines and Baselines_ or _Pater,et Filius_ up next, for those following either of them) Hope you enjoyed, as always, anything you want to see, just give me a shout and I'll see what I can do. Thanks for reading!

-Inks


	5. Home Sweet Home

Sighing deeply, and making sure to enjoy the sensation of free flowing oxygen throughout his body, Tony slipped out of the car and trudged after a sweeping Gibbs. Usually, going over to his boss' place was a frequent and leisurely thing to do, the team often just hung there. Walking over the threshold _now_ however, felt like he was meandering up the path to his own freaking gallows. Glancing at the wall clock in the hallway, and seeing it was now after midnight, he wondered briefly if he would get a reprieve. Until tomorrow, at least. Looking longingly at the stairs that led to the room that he and Tim had essentially commandeered as their own, his thoughts must have been evident on his face as Gibbs turned to face him.

"Oh no you don't, not on your life," he clipped out, pointing to the couch in the living room, "in there, and sit." With that, he turned on his heel and propelled himself off to his basement. Groaning, Tony shut the front foot door and slouched into the allocated position. Anyone else would think Gibbs was torturing him, leaving him to stew…but Tony had enough experience of being in the hot seat to know that the man was taking his immediate frustrations out on his boat, as opposed to taking them out on his agent. In hindsight, he really owed many a boat, many an apology.

Shrugging out of his jacket, he dropped his head in his hands as the distant sounds of hammering and sawing made their way up from the downstairs level. He ran through the night's events and had to shake his head in dismay at his own stupidity. If he hadn't been trying to one up Neal all night, maybe he wouldn't _be_ in this mess. As his thoughts turned to his new partner in crime, he once again felt the conflicting envy rise in him. Caffrey was probably getting ready for a restful night's sleep right now, after assuring his soft touch of a boss that he'd never do anything remotely like his behaviour tonight again. He felt relatively guilty at being so jealous at the consequence devoid fate of the New Yorker, but _really,_ how was it fair that _he_ was the only one who was firmly in the dog house? Sighing, he settled in for however long it took for the poor vessel downstairs to absorb his boss' frustrations.

Across town, "getting ready for a restful night's sleep," was _not_ all that high up in Neal Caffrey's horoscope.

No matter how much he might want it to be.

Following a stiff backed Peter with all the enthusiasm of a beached whale, he walked slowly up the many flights of stairs that led to the man's hotel room. Glancing at his watch on the way up, he realised with a jolt that it was past midnight. His mind working rapidly, as he thought of the _ungodly_ hour these damned NCIS people rose at, he wondered briefly, desperately, he could get some form of an IOU, at least till morning. Now hovering outside Peter's room, his inner thoughts coupled with his outward look of longing at his neighbouring room must have betrayed his desperate hopes.

Turning a steely eye on his squirming ward, Peter raised a brow, swiping his card through the door. "Not if it was your last night on this earth Neal Caffrey," he growled, opening the door and jerking his head in the direction of the room that lay beyond. "Get your backside in there, _now."_ Not feeling very much like _exposing_ said backside to a highly irate Agent Burke, Neal scuttled in past him like a particularly over cautious crab. The sounds of Peter's teeth clenching together were not unprecedented, as he shut the hotel door with a snap.

Turning, and seeing Neal looking at him uncertainly, he strode towards him and took him by his upper arm. Propelling him to a seat in the corner of the room, he plopped him down in it and stared at him sternly. "I'm not ready to deal with you yet," he ground out, "I need to calm down or you'll never sit again." Neal paled as the angry an carried on.

"I'm going downstairs for a walk," Peter informed the young informant steadily, "if you are _not_ in that chair, _exactly_ where I left you when I came back…well, I'm sure you can imagine. Do you understand me Neal?"

The kid nodded apprehensively, and shifted his gaze guiltily to the floor.

As Peter nodded tersely, and _despite_ his better judgement squeezed the boy's shoulder in his usual need to reassure him that all would be eventually ok, things weren't all that reassuring across town. As Agent Burke left his hotel room, Agent Gibbs returned to his living room, and whilst the initial, impulsive anger was gone from him, there was no denying that he was still all kinds of mad.

Looking up upon his entrance, Tony gulped and fidgeted in his seat. He barely concealed a wince as Gibbs stood in front of him, his shadow casting a dubious slant on his life expectancy. There was silence for a moment as Gibbs considered his speech, and Tony considered his funeral arrangements. When his boss _did_ speak, the senior agent cursed the fact that he didn't specifically ever tell Abby that he didn't want a grunge band playing at his wake.

"What in the _hell_ were you thinking Tony?" Gibbs demanded, "what in the good _hell_ was going on in that head of yours? Smuggling alcohol into an unlicensed premises, _misrepresenting_ your _agency?_ Are you a federal agent or a some kind of fraternity pledge? Did you _even_ stop to _think_ what could happen to that new little friend of yours, had that ass of an officer decided to take your idiocy any further?"

The spot on the carpet was apparently the most fascinating thing Tony had ever seen in his entire life.

Patience wearing thin, Gibbs sighed. "Tony…the only thing allowing you sit comfortably right now, is that I want my questions answered. You don't want to answer them? Fine. Then stand up, and kiss goodbye to sitting back down again."

Bidding the stain in the floor fabric adieu, the young man reluctantly tore his gaze upwards and squirmed slightly in his seat. "I don't _know_ boss…" he admitted miserably, "I guess…I guess we just got carried away. It didn't seem like a big deal at the time." He quailed under Gibbs' gaze and held up his hands. "I know…it was stupid," he conceded quietly, "I shouldn't have brought those bottles in there and I shouldn't have misused my position to try and get us out of it."

He swallowed, and looked down at his hands.

"I'm sorry boss."

He knew that the no apologies rule would be dispensed with in his current situation. It always was.

Rubbing a hand across his eyes tiredly, Gibbs shook his head in dejected exasperation. "I don't know how many times I've had to either chew you out or roast your butt for these kinds of stunts, Tony. Maybe…maybe I'm going the wrong way about this, do you think? Maybe I _should_ be letting you deal with the formal consequences for your screw ups, instead of taking care of them myself. Maybe…just maybe you'd take _some_ notice of a suspension, because you sure as hell don't seem to take a _blind_ bit of notice of anything _I_ do."

If ever there was a time Tony was going to throw up from a reprimand, it was now.

Looking up at his boss with those damned green eyes that could rival the most fortunate of puppies, the young man shook his head vigorously. The panic that was building on his face was enough to cut through Gibbs' stern demeanour, though he didn't show it as he watched the kid pale. He had zero intention of suspending him, but putting a little bit of fear into him to stop his thoughtless capers…he could deal with that.

"Boss…please," Tony all but squeaked, "I _know_ I messed up, and I _know_ I promised you I wouldn't get into any trouble with Neal…but c'mon man, please… don't suspend me." He looked down at his hands and groaned. "Job's all I got, boss."

This time, even Leroy Jethro Gibbs couldn't help the softening of his own features at the last few strangled words from the kid. Sighing, he stepped forwards and threw himself down on the sofa beside a growingly morose looking Tony. Suddenly feeling a bit guilty for his idle threat, he ran a hand over his eyes in chagrin.

"Alright, alright," he conceded gruffly, "take that look off your face already, you're like a damned orphaned kitten." Beside him, the kid stirred to look at him, anxiousness still etched deep into his face. "So…no suspension?" he asked tentatively, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer with his boss in such close proximity.

Gibbs nodded his head slowly.

"No suspension," he confirmed quietly, "but I'm warning you now Tony, if you don't start paying better attention to the way _I_ try and take care of your stunts, you _will_ be looking down the barrel of an unpaid, two week benching. Is that clear?"

It was still an idle threat. The team lead would pretty much fight tooth and nail before dishing out on the detested paper punishments he had so little time for. But, even if it made him feel like crap to see the expression on the kid's face as he nodded his head in clarity, it was worth it if it kept him out of bother. Forcing himself to remain firm, he locked the kid down with his gaze and once again found his voice.

"Your carry on tonight was beneath you, you were showing off to that damned Caffrey kid, and now you're in the hot seat because of it. You _need_ to get it _through_ your head, that you don't have a nine to five gig. You're not a damned insurance clerk. Something like this, could affect your career if the wrong people were to find out, and you damned well know it. I can't always be there to clean up your mess' Tony, so you better learn to stop making them. Understood?"

Squirming once more, the kid gave a jerk nod and a mumbled "yes boss."

Nodding in weariness, Gibbs strove to do what he knew needed to be done. "Do I need to go through all the reasons why you're about to get your behind blistered?" Flushing and groaning, Tony shook his head fervently. "No boss," he answered glumly, "but…uhh, Abby said that your Horoscope said you would find mercy in your life this month. Any chance you could…erm, you know….find it…right now?"

Snorting despite himself, Gibbs shook his head with a smile. "I told you before not to listen to any of that rubbish," he muttered with a lesser tone of crossness, "it's sure as hell not going to save you now." He shoved himself back further on the sofa, and pointed to a spot beside his right leg. "Ok, come here, Tony, and let's get this over and done with."

There was no movement.

Staring aghast at the appointed spot, Tony shook his head fervently. "Come on boss, not…not like _that,"_ he all but whined, "can't I just…can't I-"

Gibbs glared.

"Do you _want_ the belt, Tony?"

The young agent gulped and shook his head so fast it made him relatively dizzy.

"Not at all, boss."

The spot was pointed to once again.

"Then you _get_ your backside over here, before I change my damned mind and give it to you."

This time…there _was_ movement. Albeit very reluctant, stilted, puppy dog eyes accompanied movement. Shuffling to his impromptu gallows, Tony cursed every single, moronic move he'd made that night. Feeling his face heat up as he reached the damned execution position, he couldn't suppress a groan as Gibbs reached out and took a firm grasp of his wrist.

A millisecond later, he was upended over the man's knee, with a strong arm snaking across his waist, holding him firmly in position. His face heated up another jot, as his cell suddenly rang in his back pocket. Moving helplessly to remove it, he was obviously beaten to the punch by a much more strategically positioned Gibbs. Glancing at the caller idea, he glanced down at his groaning and muttering agent with an unseen raised brow.

"Who's Grace then?" he questioned lightly, as the cell continued to shriek in his hand.

Tony's entire world stopped as he buried his face into the sofa cushion. Grace…the very pretty, maddeningly elusive barmaid chose _now_ … _now_ of all times to _finally_ return his call? Before he could lament any further, he was surprised by the cool feeling of the cell's metal against his cheek, as Gibbs placed the phone beside him.

"Tell her you'll call her back," he instructed, with a trace of gentleness in his tone. Whilst he was no stranger to disciplining his team, he would never purposely embarrass them. Unable to flash his boss a look of gratitude, Tony hoisted himself up on his elbows, grabbed the phone and swiped the accept icon. "Hey, Grace," he chirped down the line, the _surreal_ nature of his situation something he couldn't get his head around, "what's up?" His voice melted away as he listened to her sultry voice, asking him to meet _tonight_ and once again, cursed every single decision he had just made.

"Uhh…tonight?"

He could just _feel_ Gibbs shaking his head.

"Erm, sorry I can't do tonight…I'm umm…I'm working right now. Listen, I'll ring you back later and we can sort something out…and…hello? _Hello?"_ He huffed as he threw the phone lightly away from him and re-buried his head in the sofa cushion. "She hung _up_ on me," he groaned, in muffled tones, as Gibbs raised bemused brows.

"How scarring for you," he drawled, "any chance we can get this over with now, or do you want to _sleep_ where you currently are?" He didn't get an answer, nor did he expect one. Sobering, he tightened his hold on his second in command and forced himself to raise his hand. The first swat landed hard, and with unnerving precision, as did the rest that followed.

Tony didn't fight it as the heat began to spread throughout his backside, nor did he even bother to keep up a macho front. He was too tired, and the sting was too much to deny. He hissed as his tender sit spots were thrown into the firing line, and as the well aimed swats never faltered. Just as the pain was reaching eye watering level, the hand stilled.

He groaned.

It was too early in the spanking for it to mean that it was over, which meant it _could_ only mean one thing. A stern, order filled voice above his head confirmed his dire suspicions, and he stood slowly up, misery flowing freely from him. Fumbling with the clasp of his jeans, he couldn't help but throw his boss a pleading look, which was firmly ignored. With his pants pooling around his knees, he was instantly pulled back over the recently departed knee, and he immediately felt his boxers join their fallen comrades.

The rest of the punishment was dished out fairly quickly, with every part of his unfortunate backside receiving equal amounts of undesirable attention. Tony couldn't help the whimpering and yelping that escaped him, as he was carefully tipped forwards so that his tender upper curve could be well and truly reddened. An especially stinging swat broke the barrier between his tears and gravity, and they began streaming down his face quietly, as the stinging swats continued to fall.

And then, it was over.

The hand that had caused such pain, was now rubbing carefully along the arch of his lower back. The voice that had firmly rebuked, was now gently comforting and the tears that had been streaming, began to halt in their gate. He worked on controlling his breathing, as the hand continued to rub gentle circles. Eventually, no more tears fell and his breathing returned to a pattern of gentle inhalation and exhalation.

He moved to hoist himself up from his position, and Gibbs instantly rose with him, turning his back in his time honoured tradition of giving Tony privacy to right his clothing. Turning, the team lead winced as he always did at the red eyes, and the mussed up hair. Opening his arms instinctively, as he always did, he was rewarded with an armful of DiNozzo, as he always was.

Tousling a hand through the kid's hair, he issued a very light tap against the back of his head. "No more carry on like that son, you understand?" Breaking out of the embrace, Tony gave a sheepish nod and reached back to rub his stinging, throbbing backside. "Yes boss," he muttered fervently, "I got it, I _definitely_ got it."

Rolling his eyes with a grin, Gibbs snorted. "Yeah…and I haven't heard _that_ a hundred times before," he countered, with a jerk of his head towards the staircase. "It's late and we have an early start. Head on up to bed Tony, I'll bring you up something to drink in a minute."

"That grapefruit one you have?" the young asked hopefully, still rubbing at his besieged rear end. Gibbs frowned as he did a mental inventory. "Don't think I have any, I'd have to make some and…" he trailed off, the beseeching, puppy eyes _finally_ getting their way. "Alright, alright," he laughed, "give me a couple extra minutes and I'll see what I can do."

Nodding happily, his young agent suddenly sobered.

"What is it, Tony?" Gibbs asked gently.

"Uhh…boss, what do you think is…going to happen to Neal?"

The team leads lips pursed disapprovingly, quite sure that the damned Caffrey kid wouldn't know discipline if it danced stark naked in front of him. "I don't know Tony," he answered honestly, "but…you have something else to concern yourself with anyhow."

Staring firmly at his miscreant, the elder man arched a brow. "Tomorrow, despite my rule on the matter, you are _going_ to apologise to Agent Burke, and you are _going_ to assure him that yourself and his damned protégée do _not_ get into _any_ more bother for the duration of their stay. You are _going_ to assure him that you have been appropriately disciplined for your role in tonight's debacle. Am I making myself clear on that?"

Tony gaped.

"You… _I…._ you mean….you _can't_ mean…uhh….."

Gibbs sighed.

"Use your words, Tony."

Nodding, the younger man tried his best to do just that, whilst battling the feeling of nausea that was threatening to overtake him. "You're…you're making me tell Peter that…" his face burned, "that you…uhm, that you….sp-uhh…punished me?"

Gibbs smiled gently.

"No of course not Tony," he said reassuringly, "I just want you to tell him that you _were_ punished, not _how_ you were punished." He shrugged his shoulders. "Unless you _want_ to, in which case, knock yourself out. Now, off you go and head on up…I need to hunt out some grapefruit."

With that, he turned and went in the direction of the kitchen, leaving Tony to lumber up the stairs with a wince. He didn't know _what_ he was going to say to Agent Burke, but he sure as _hell_ knew what he wasn't going to say. Hell, he'd tell him that he got desk duty or something. Nudging into his room, he laid himself down stomach first on his bed and sighed.

A bed had never felt so good.

Over on the other side of town however, beds were _not_ feeling all that good. They weren't feeling good, _period._ Groaning as Peter sat down on the side of his bed, and deftly tugged him over his knee after a firm, painfully long lecture, Neal flushed into the springy mattress. He flushed even more as the voice rang out overhead, and as an arm snagged around his waist.

"You only have yourself to blame for where you are right now Neal," Peter intoned firmly, "I gave you fair warning before we even got here, I _warned_ you not pull any of your…your _shenanigans,_ and now instead of having a civilised night out right now, you're about to get a sore tail." He paused, to take in a breath and to force himself to do what he had to do, but desperately didn't _want_ to do.

"I'm disappointed in you bud," he murmured quietly, knowing that this would sting more than a spanking ever could, "I thought we were past all this foolish behaviour, but the _minute_ I take you out of the city, you go damned nuts." He strengthened his hold around the kid's slim waist. "Let's just hope _this_ get's through to you, because apparently nothing I _say,_ does."

Burying his head further into the soft linen, Neal's shoulders sagged miserably, and muffled "m'sorry Peter," could tenuously be heard. Sighing, the older of the pair nodded unseen, and despite himself reached out and tousled the kid's hair gently. "I know you are bud," he said softly, "and I hate doing this, but one way or another, you have _got_ to learn to _think_ before you act, ok?"

The buried head managed a little nod, as Peter reluctantly raised a firm hand.

The first swat seemed to echo around the hotel room, as a soft hiss accompanied it. Reluctantly settling into a rhythm, Peter dished out the second swat in close succession, and within a moment, the punishment was well and truly underway. Keeping a firm grasp of his troublemaker's waist, he gently tipped him forwards slightly, beginning to pepper the upturned sit spots with stinging and well placed swats.

The whimpering and yelping soon became constant, as Neal squirmed somewhat across Peter's knee. Repositioning his grip on his charge, the elder man mumbled a quiet "try and stay still son," before applying another flurry of brisk swats. Pausing, he removed his hold from the expensively clad torso, and leant back slightly, "Ok Neal, up you get and lose the pants please."

The kid didn't move an inch, to the contrary, he seemed to clutch the bedspread tighter still.

Sighing, Peter rubbed the boy's back. "I know, but you're not getting away without losing them. So the quicker you get yourself up and back over my knee, the quicker this is all over. C'mon now bud, up you get." Despising the logic of that statement, Neal miserably got to his feet, and fumbled aimlessly with his expensive belt. Looking up and shooting Peter the doe eyes, whilst seemingly being rendered utterly incapable of navigating a simple clasp, the stall wasn't hard to spot. Despite being a Neal Caffrey con.

Sighing, Peter gently pushed the kid's hands away and deftly unblocked the belt himself. Pulling the expensive slacks down, he didn't miss a beat before pulling the boy back over his knee. Tugging down the boxers that probably cost more than his electricity bill, he replaced his firm hold on the now sniffling Neal's waist. Closing his eyes wearily, he forced himself to remain stern. "This had _better_ be the last time I have to roast your butt for this kind of caper Neal, otherwise I'm going to start thinking that my hand alone isn't doing the job. Do you understand me?"

The sad little nod of the dark mop of hair answered him.

The already reddened rear end took on a deeper hue as Peter refocused his attention. The crisp, brisk swats instantly drew a much louder response as Neal bucked in protest against the searing sting. Before long, the loud sounds of distress petered out into the most morose sobbing imaginable, tearing at Peter's heartstrings. With a last coat of thick red being applied to the well chastised sit spots, he instantly removed his hand from the scorched rear end, and replaced it on the clammy back, rubbing it soothingly.

"Just breathe for me now bud," he murmured quietly, "it's all done now, just breathe for me."

And so Neal did. And within a few minutes, the tears had stopped streaming down his face, and his chest rose and fell with gentle breaths. Peter's hand never left his back, running a careful arch up and down. With a last sniff, Neal made to rise and as usual, the elder man went with him. Turning, he instantly rooted through his night stand and found Neal a oversized t-shirt and soft flannel night ends. Tossing them over his shoulder, with a quiet "these are softer," he waited patiently for the tell tale hiss.

Turning when he heard it, he immediately felt like an ogre at the sight in front of him. A bleary eyed, mussed up hair, pyjama wearing Neal was too much for his stern demeanour, and he instantly dispensed with it. Striding forwards, he instantly took the more than willing kid into his arms, and squeezed him tightly. Letting him for after a while, he kept a warm hand on each of his shoulders.

"How're you doing son?" he asked anxiously, as Neal reached back to rub at the sting in his butt.

Looking up at the elder of the two with red rimmed eyes, the kid shrugged but smiled a ghost of his roguish smile. "I've been better, I've been worse," he quipped, before sobering slightly and fidgeting where he stood. "I'm sorry…that I let you down," he muttered, flushing and averting his gaze to the floor.

Reaching out and tousling the dark mop of hair, Peter shook his head firmly. "It's all forgotten about now kid, ok?" Nodding slowly, Neal looked at the agent uncertainly and shuffled a bit more. "What is it?" Peter asked gently. Neal flushed some more, and pointed to the unnecessary additional bed in the corner of Peter's room.

"Can I sleep in here tonight?"

Chuckling, Peter nodded his head and pulled back the covers with a quiet "of course," before indicating for the kid to hop in. Clambering in dubiously, and resting himself delicately on his side with a wince, Neal sighed. "What do you think is going to happen to Tony?" he suddenly asked in concern, feeling that no matter _how_ mad Peter had been with him, he would prefer that to that _terrifying_ hulk of a man.

Puling the covers up around the questioning informant, Peter's lips pursed together disapprovingly. Gibbs would probably give the kid a damned beer and a pat on the back. The boy didn't have a lick of discipline in him.

"I don't know Neal," he admitted honestly, "but that's not your concern. What _is_ your concern, is that when we get into the office tomorrow, I want you to apologise to Agent Gibbs for tonight." He held up a hand as the sleepy kid opened his mouth in protest. "I want you to apologise to him, assure him you were adequately disciplined and assure him that _nothing_ like this will happen again, while we're here. Ok?"

The colour drained from the young man's face.

"You want me….you _want_ me to….are you seriously….you can't…."

Peter sighed.

"Use your words, Neal."

Scrambling up in his bed with a wince, as Peter threw himself wearily down on his bed, the reforming con opened his mouth in outrage, tinged with a hint of pleading. "You're making me…." He flushed, "you're going to make me tell that _Gibbs…_ that you….that you sp-uhh…that you punished me?"

Peter blinked.

"No… _no,"_ he spluttered in indignation tinged with amusement, "what kind of a jerk do you think I am kid?" Seeing Neal open his mouth to answer, he shook his head. "Don't even think about it," he warned with a smirk, that the boy returned full force. "I want you to tell Agent Gibbs that you're sorry and that I took care of it. You don't need to tell him _how,"_ he shrugged, "unless you want to, that is, in which case, that's fine."

Neal snorted.

"I'll pass on that, thanks."

Rolling his eyes, Peter heaved himself up from the bed. Passing Neal's he ruffled his hair with a murmured "thought so," before looking around for a menu. "You hungry, thirsty?" he asked in concern, taking in the slightly parched look of his charge's lips. As if on cue, Neal's stomach rumbled and he grinned in answer.

"I could eat."

Nodding absentmindedly, Peter continued to hunt for some kind of a menu before giving it up as a bad job. Grabbing his coat, he turned towards the door. "I'm just going to go and see do they have a porter on call," he raised a brow in Neal's direction, "so help me, if you are _not_ in that bed when I get back in here…"

Neal chuckled, and the sound of it was like music to Peter's ears as he threw one last, half-hearted warning glance at the kid, before hastening out in search of food, with the thoughts of El's disapproving face in his mind's eye if Neal were forced to go to bed hungry.

As the door clicked shut, Neal leant himself very carefully back in the bed and winced as a pain shot through his poor backside. Feeling sorry for himself, he was distracted as his cell lit up on the bedside stand where he'd thrown it earlier. Plucking it up, he grinned when he saw Tony's name flash across the screen, and quickly unlocked the lock display.

 _Hope your guy didn't give you too much of a hard time. You ok?_

Neal quickly tapped the keypad, keeping an eye out for Peter's return.

 _No such thing as a hard time when you're as charming as me, what about yours?_

He lulled against the pillows as he waited for a reply, not in the least bit guilty about his less than half truth. He wasn't about to broadcast the fact that he'd be sleeping on his stomach tonight. The cell beeped again within a minute.

 _Boss man's bark is a lot worse than his bite, add that to my charm and no problems here either._

Neal grinned, relief flooding through him.

When Peter came back, the kid was fast asleep, his hair falling into his eyes. Setting the plate of food down by his bed in case he got hungry in the middle of the night, he carefully brushed his hair out the way and quietly turned out the light.

Across town, nudging open Tony's door with a glass of fruit juice that had taken _ages_ to procure, plus a certain degree of ingenuity due to a severe lacking of citrus fruit, Gibbs took in the sleeping form and smiled. Placing the glass gently down in case he got thirsty in the middle of the night, he carefully excised the phone that was in the kid's hand, placed it on the bedside table, and quietly turned out the light.

Silently getting into his bed, Peter felt contentment wash over him. It was perhaps inevitable that there would be _one_ escapade whilst they were in DC, but with it now taken care of, he surely had nothing else to worry about. Not once he had Neal away from that…that _DiNozzo_ fellow.

As he threw himself down on the couch downstairs, Gibbs allowed sleep to overcome him, safe in the knowledge that Burke and his criminal puppy would be gone soon, and therefore be no longer in a position to drag his lot into all kinds of bother.

…little did either know, how very, very wrong they were.

….

TBC

…

A/N: Thinking of throwing the others into the mix at some point, so let me know if you want to see anything in particular.

Until next time.

-Inks.


	6. Revelations

Walking into the bull pen the next day, Tony sighed a sigh of intense relief. Peter and Neal were nowhere to be seen. A small smile played about his lips. These New Yorker's…were _not_ morning people. Sitting gingerly down at his desk, he winced as the predicable pain shot up through him. Scowling down at his morning memo, he shook his head.

It didn't make sense. It didn't make basic physiological sense.

A human hand, should _not_ have that kind of an effect. Not several hours later, and not in response to a well cushioned chair. But, it did, just like it always did, and the wince was unlikely to dissipate. Gazing unseeingly at the paper in front of him, he breathed an envious breath. Neal had no doubt gotten off scot free. It wasn't as if he _wanted_ him to get in trouble, but…the indignation that _he_ was the only who had to pay was grating.

His face flushed as Gibbs' instructions reared their ugly head. It was mortifying. It was cruel and unusual. It was also redundant. Anyone who had spent three minutes in the boss' company would know that last night's escapades would have been dealt with. There didn't _need_ to be a verbal affirmation of such. It was entirely unnecessary. Just as he was contemplating if it was worth his life to explain this duplicity to Gibbs, the man himself broke his reverie by striding in with his second coffee of the day.

Tony quickly decided, that it wasn't worth the risk of permanent physical damage.

Meanwhile, cushioned chairs were also failing another extroverted young man. Sighing dramatically as he clambered into the passenger side of their rental, Neal shot Peter a look of deepest misery. Throwing his eyes up to heaven in response, the older man started the car with a muttered "don't make me _give_ you something to wine about."

Hissing in indignation, Neal turned a haughty head towards the window. It was ridiculous, it defied all basic anatomical rules, and yet his butt was still throbbing in protest as he sat on the well padded seat. Glancing at Peter's hands as they clasped the steering wheel, he suddenly wondered if they were somehow demonic. Shaking his head, he made a mental note to ease up on his intake of Supernatural.

As they drove through the growingly familiar streets, Peter's insistences that he speak with Agent Gibbs suddenly shot into his mind. He felt his face grow hot. There was something vaguely _criminal_ about that man. Well, of course, technically _he_ was a criminal as well, but no…with Gibbs, it was less White Collar and more broken Collar Bone.

He was petrifying.

Personally, he didn't know how or why Tony did it. Abby, he got. I mean, she was _clearly_ Gibbs precious little favourite. Ziva too, seemed to hold a golden card where the beast of a man was concerned. Tim…seemed to fly under the radar for the most part. Tony though…his eyes closed in sympathy. His new friend probably had mass internal bleeding, and was none the wiser. Surely it wasn't _legal_ to beat your subordinates. Surely, the head of your second in command was an important asset.

And yet, Gibbs treated Tony like a piñata.

That he had a personal grievance with.

Turning slowly towards a humming Peter, he suddenly was struck with the need to assure him, that to assure Gibbs he had been deal with, was assuredly unnecessary. Anyone who'd breathed the same _air_ as Peter Burke knew he was a rule lover. Rule lovers always avenged their lovers when they were broken. Therefore, Gibbs would already know he'd been…spoken to, so _telling_ him was…silly.

He wondered if the man would crash the car should he bring this fact up, and decided, that it was possible. Plus, if he pushed him, he might tell El what had happened. Then he'd have to listen to _her_ lecture when he got home. As cutting as Peter could be with his words, he was nothing compared to his wife. Sighing, an staring out the window, Neal decided to just pray that the man beside him would…forget, that little stipulation.

He _was_ getting old, old people forgot things, right?

He held onto that comforting fact as they pulled into the Navy Yard that he now despised on sight, and worked their way through the various security clearances. Smiling dashingly at the beautiful receptionist, Neal scowled as Peter dragged him on. "What is your _problem?"_ he whined, "she was _totally_ into me."

Peter sighed, and continued leading the way into the bull pen. "We're here to _work_ Neal, not for you chat up every girl that you see." He signed their way into the relevant floor, before continuing. "Besides, _you_ have an apology to make, isn't that right?" Walking beside him, the younger man faltered, before turning devastatingly adorable doe eyes in the agent's direction.

"Please don't make me," he pleaded quietly, "he's insane. He could _kill_ me, Peter. He probably carries around old grenades from his time serving in World War II. He could _fling_ one at me. He's positively mad I tell you!" Stopping short, Peter spluttered and shot the kid an incredulous look. "World War II?" he hissed, "Neal, how _old_ do you think the man _is?"_

The boy looked thoughtful for a moment, and ran an eye up and down Peter's person, before grinning devishly. "A couple of years younger than you, maybe?" Before the growl could leave his handlers throat, he was bouncing away, laughing loudly. Grinding his teeth, and shaking his head, Peter trudged after him, thinking longingly of DC.

He noted that Neal's chipper gate instantly dropped off the map when he spied Gibbs sitting at his desk, sipping what Peter thought was probably his fifth coffee. He'd never seen anyone consume the kind of caffeine their host did, it was positively dangerous. Seeing his charge turn back to him and cast a pleading puppy dog look, he pursed his lips, and shook his head.

Striding into the room, he took Neal's arm at the elbow, and steered him, rather forcibly, in the direction of Gibbs' desk. The grey haired man sensing their presence looked up coolly, and jerked his head in acknowledgement at Peter's arrival, and glowered heavily in acknowledgement of his. Raising his brows, he leant back and sipped his coffee thoughtfully.

Seizing the moment, Peter nudged Neal in the rips pointedly, before clearing his throat. "Agent Gibbs," he murmured courteously, "Neal here, has something he'd like to say you." Shooting the boy another narrowed gaze, he added "isn't that right, Neal?"

The blue eyes that normally twinkled with mischief, seemed to be laden down with horror as the kid gulped, managed a nod, and turned jerkily in the direction of the silently inquisitive Gibbs. Before he could croak out a syllable, the man held up a hand in a silencing gesture. Neal thanked his lucky stars. Clearly, the agent had no intention of listening to him, and that wasn't _his_ fault, _he_ couldn't be blamed for that. Just, as he was about to flash Peter a decidedly smug look, the intention was killed off before its birth.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs suddenly barked over their heads, "over here, now."

Neal cursed his stars. He hated stars, stupid balls of stupid fire that were probably stupidly dead. He felt the heat grow in his face as the sounds of arrival met his ears. He was only a tinge grateful that the rest of the NCIS team appeared to be elsewhere. Soon, Tony ambled slowly into view, a pained look on his face as he kept his gaze firmly on the ground. Not even glancing at Neal, he spoke quietly.

"Yeah, boss?"

Gibbs leant back once more, and threw a hand in Neal's direction. "Your partner in crime here apparently has something to say to me, and with how much you two apparently have in _common,_ I thought you might like to hear it, too." Tony gulped. As badly as he had pictured the day going, it was already exceeding his expectations. He stole a glance at Neal. He was clearly struggling to hold onto his general suave exterior, and there was a certain heat to his face that had nothing to do with the sun wave they were experiencing.

Peter, for his part, glared angrily at Gibbs. He was going to have the kid apologise, he didn't need a damned audience to do it. Biting his tongue against his will, knowing that the situation would only be worse if he antagonised it, he laid a much gentler hand on the boy's shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. "Go on, Neal," he prompted softly. Nodding, the young man drew in a breath and made the hardest eye contact he'd potentially ever made, locking his blue gaze with Gibbs'.

"I uhh…" he began, _mortified_ at his lack of eloquence. Words, were the _one_ thing that had never failed him. Until now, apparently. Swallowing, he tried again. "Erm…well, about last night…I just wanted to say….well, what I wanted to say is…that, last night….uhh…."

Gibbs raised a brow in Peter's direction, before jerking his head in Neal's.

"Is he having a stroke?" he asked mildly.

Before a now _very_ angry Agent Burke could answer, Neal bet him to it. "No," he answered hotly, irritated at the sarcastic way this _Jethro_ was talking to Peter. "Though, I can see why there would be a cardiac health disparity in this place." Slightly mollified by the growl that shuddered in the man's throat, he pressed on. "What I was saying, is that I would like to apologise for my role in last night's situation. I was wrong, and I'm sorry Tony got caught up in it. I'd like to assure you that Peter has corrected the problem, and it won't reoccur throughout our stay here. I hope you accept my sincere apologies on the matter, Agent Gibbs."

He clamped his mouth shut then, and flashed a look at Peter, who was staring at him proudly.

Gibbs, whether he wanted to or not, had to admit, the boy was impressive. Men twice his age had quailed in front of him in such situations, and after a brief stumble, he'd handled himself pretty well. Deciding to dispense with informing the visitors that apologies were a sign of weakness, because of what he was about to do, he nodded thoughtfully.

"Apology accepted, Neal," he replied quietly, and couldn't _miss_ the shocked expressions that cross all three of the assembled men's faces. Clearing his throat, he turned to look at _his_ assembled man, and shot Tony a pointed look. The rapidly paling expression left him in no doubt that that he kid knew what he was communicating.

It was his turn.

Gulping, as his boss' voice rang out in the bull pen, Tony strove to collect himself. When the "Tony has something he'd like to say to you Peter, as well," was uttered, he knew all eyes were on him. Dragging his gaze up reluctantly, he fixed them on a politely puzzled looking Agent Burke. Drawing in a mortified breath, he nodded slowly, and peeled apart his reluctant lips.

"Uhm…about last night, and the casino…and the drink….and erm, what not….I was just…" he trailed off, his face reddening, as Neal shot him a deeply sympathetic look. To his credit, Peter didn't issue a scathing comment on the stuttering, rather, he remained resolutely silent, feeling an annoying bout of sympathy for the kid.

Feeling Gibbs' burning gaze on him, Tony decided to bite the bullet and get it over with as quickly as possible. "I'm sorry for my involvement in last night's incident, Agent Burke," he murmured politely, "it shouldn't have happened, and I'm sorry Neal got messed up in it. Gibbs has…dealt with it, and it certainly won't happen again. I hope you can accept my apologies, and that we can continue to work this case together."

Running out of steam, he threw his lips back together, and snuck a glance at Gibbs, who was wearing that faint, proud smile of his. Clearing his throat slightly, Peter found himself nodding and smiling slightly at the abashed looking kid. "No hard feelings, Tony," he replied kindly, "let's all just move on from this, shall we?"

Standing, Gibbs nodded, in a return to his brusque manner. "Sounds good to me," he muttered, looking at Tony, he jerked his head in the direction of the kid's desk. "Back to work, DiNozzo," he instructed in his usual tones, and the young agent instantly spun on his heel and made his way back to his desk. Jerking his head in the similar direction, Peter sent Neal back to their desk. On his way, Tony called out to him to look over a potential lead, and he changed his course of direction.

Keeping his gaze trained on Neal, and noticing that Gibbs did the same with Tony, Peter turned to their host to verbalise a case based query that had struck him in the middle of the night. Before he could utter it however, something caught his eye. The wince and the slight, _slight_ hiss that escaped the boy as he sat down was nothing he hadn't seen before.

From _his_ ward…but, the hiss and wince he'd just seen and heard, _hadn't_ come from _his_ ward.

Gibbs' eyes widened somewhat, as he caught what he had in no way, shape or form, been looking for. Ginger seating positions were no rarity in his bull pen. From _his_ lot. Particularly, from Tony. But…the squeezing of the eyes, were not green eyes. The wincing, was not DC wincing. His eyes grew wider as he ran his gaze over all the tell tale signs that _weren't_ coming from _his_ charge.

Across the bull pen, identical looks of shock were being traded, before intense flushes spread across handsome, young faces. Staring, with an intensity that was totally disproportionate to the bank account records they were examining, Tony and Neal were experiencing similar feelings of utter shock, and utter horror.

Shock, that if their individual suspicions were correct, and they were _damned_ sure they were, they each weren't the only one with an…unorthodox boss. Horror that the man sitting beside them _knew_ that their least favourite thing to do at the moment, was sit. A silence built up between them, so intense, that it was like a solid brick wall.

Tony threw the first punch at that wall, and keeping his gaze downwards, muttered a very faint, "thought you said you had no trouble with your keeper?" There was a slight accusatory tone to his voice, and Neal bristled. Also keeping his gaze trained downwards, he snorted. "Thought you said the same thing?"

Each looking up in tandem, they shrugged their shoulders nonchalantly.

"Nothing I can't handle."

Staring at each other in the aftermath of their uniform speech, their gazes instantly drifted over towards where their collective boss' sat, staring in _their_ direction. Looks of comprehension were dawning on both of the older men's face, and their two younger counterparts instantly heaved miserable sighs, before throwing their heads back down into their paperwork.

"Damn," Neal muttered, feeling Tony's subtle nod beside him. "You got that right," the slightly older man muttered. Staring at the bank transactions, Neal exhaled slowly. "And I thought _I_ had it bad," he murmured, "I'd rather the death penalty than go through that with _your_ keeper." Tony snorted beside him. "I'm sure _yours_ is all picnics by the lakeside."

As Neal hissed back, Peter and Gibbs turned to stare at each other. There was a similar wall of silence between the two, and Gibbs, like Tony, was the first to break it. Staring up at their guest thoughtfully, he tilted his head in contemplation. A new found feeling of respect for the man was forming in him. It was clear that he cared for his protégée deeply, and was willing to do what it took to keep him out of harm's way.

Gibbs could relate to that, and _did_ relate to that.

And he could respect that, and _did_ respect that.

"You want to grab a beer later on, Burke?"

….

TBC

….

A/N: Thanks for reading. This is really, really fun to write, so I hope you're enjoying it!


	7. Bars and Breakthroughs

Neal yawned as he pored over his allocated files, at the tiny desk he and Peter were sharing during their stay. He shielded his eyes against the offensively orange walls, and felt the familiar shudder run through him as he surveyed them. Orange was a terrible colour, he thought forlornly. Especially that cheap neon pain they had clearly opted for. Chewing his lip he quickly ran through a list of cost friendly, eye friendly alternatives. Just as he was wondering about the merits of a subtle sky blue, Peter's glare from Gibbs' desk caught him full in the face and he dropped his head.

At his usual desk, Tony's eyes dripped with tiredness. Last night's escapades, and…cleansing of same, had taken them into the early hours and he was now suffering for it. On all ends. Particularly his rear end. Sighing down at his allocated paper trail, he thought longingly of bed. Though, if he knew Gibbs, and he did…he had a dark suspicion he was going to be kept late. It always seemed to occur, that in the immediate aftermath of any…misunderstanding, the boss suddenly went paperwork crazy and found legitimate reasons to keep him working late.

Looking at his boss, and Neal's boss, he frowned. Their earlier animosity, which had operated as a _huge_ cause of amusement for he and Neal, seemed to be dissipating. In fact…as he craned his neck and squinted his eyes, he could have _sworn_ he saw Gibbs _smile_ at Peter. Tony didn't know why, but the fact that there appeared to be a budding friendship between those two, didn't sit well with him. Taking one furtive glance at Neal, who had also spied the smile, he could instantly tell his new friend was of the same opinion.

Catching Tony's look, Neal raised a brow and pursed his lips. He didn't know why, but the fact that there appeared to be a budding friendship between those two, didn't sit well with him. Returning Tony's furtive glance, he could instantly tell his new friend was of the same opinion. Looking down once more, rather hastily at Peter's _repeated_ warning gaze, Neal frowned some more. He was still reeling from the fact that it appeared Gibbs had sp…uhh, punished Tony in the same manner Peter, in all his caveman ways, endorsed with him.

He would have thought that the man, if he were going to give his friend hell, would do it with either a formal write up or something like a hundred laps around the Navy Yard. Pursing his lips, Neal could just _see_ enforced exercise as something the horrible man would think appropriate. He just couldn't _understand_ how Tony spoke so highly of him. It was clear he idolised the guy. Now, he, Neal….was much more sophisticated than _that._ He liked Peter, sure. Well ok, he _really_ liked Peter…well, maybe he really, _really_ liked Peter, but he didn't _idolise_ him or anything.

Tony was clearly desperate for that primate Gibbs' approval at all turns. He lit up when he got a _rare_ nugget of praise from the man, and quite clearly admitted that he was more than just a boss to him. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, Neal pulled at his collar. His insistences that he was nothing like Tony when it came to their bosses was beginning to wear thin with himself. If he was honest, and he always tried to be honest with _himself,_ he saw a lot of his own behaviour mirrored in Tony's.

He _did_ try and please Peter, and not because he had to, but because he _wanted_ to. He…well, he _did_ light up when Peter praised him, and he did feel like hell when the man was angry with him. And not because he was his boss either, it was because…he genuinely liked the man. Respected him, and looked up to him. Chewing on his lip, Neal sighed and sent his eyes up to heaven. Maybe, just maybe, he begrudgingly thought, he was a lot more like Tony with Gibbs, when it came to he and Peter than he cared to admit.

Damned Gibbs.

Doodling on the margins of his page, Tony snuck another look at Neal and felt surprise well up inside him once more. He just couldn't _believe_ that Peter had sp…uhh, punished him in the same way Gibbs, in all his Marine splendour, endorsed with him. He apparently, had an entirely incorrect view of the man. He, if he was honest, had thought him very nice but a bit of a pushover when it came to Neal.

If he were a gambling man, he would have guessed that Neal's punishment would have consisted of a stern talking to over milk and cookies. He could just _see_ Peter straining to be firm, and Neal flashing that toothy smile that _nearly_ rivalled his own, seeing the older man relenting and patting him on the head. Looking over at the handler, who was heavily engrossed in conversation with Gibbs, he shook his head slowly.

Guess he'd been totally off mark on that one.

He couldn't _really_ understand why Neal was so attached to the guy. He was nice and all, but he was sort of accountant-ish. Not exactly a charismatic leading type of fella. Yet, it was quite obvious that Neal practically loved the guy. Now, he, Tony…he was much more _manly_ about such things. He liked Gibbs, of course he did, but he didn't _idolise_ him or anything. He didn't….well; he didn't care _that_ much about his boss.

The air was suddenly a bit stuffy as Tony ran a hand through his unusually limp hair. Something about Neal's relationship with Peter seemed to trigger a sort of self analysis of he and Gibbs' relationship. He, if he was honest with himself, and he _did_ always try and be honest with himself…saw a lot more of himself in Neal's behaviour than he cared to admit. He _did_ like to please Gibbs, and just because his earthly life depended on it, but because…he genuinely wanted to make him proud. Genuinely revelled in those rare "atta boy's," that the boss-man handed out. Sighing, he realised that the similarities in Neal's and Peter's relationship were altogether too glaring too ignore.

Damned Peter.

Both Neal and Tony's inner thoughts were jolted, as the familiar, to Tony anyway, "grab your gear," order was barked. Scrambling up, both men found their rhythm, with Neal ghosting to Peter's side, and Tony grabbing his go bag. "Dead body, twenty minutes out," Gibbs informed the party that now included Ziva and Tim as they all entered the elevator. Neal, still could _not_ understand how observing a tangentially related case to their own, was going to help _solve_ their investigation. But…Peter wasn't budging, so another trip to hellacious gore-ville it was.

He shuddered.

He didn't _do_ crime scenes, unless they were theft or heist scenes. He didn't _do_ blood and guts, unless they were expertly and digitally mastered on a big screen. The life of these Navy….people, in his esteemed opinion, was altogether too ghastly a career. Humming slightly under his breath, as he liked to do, he rolled his eyes when Peter shot him an irritated glance, but desisted. Seeing out of the corner of his eye Tony's barely concealed laughter, he scowled heavily.

Being the last two to exist the lift, he jostled his new found friend more than was strictly necessary and muttered "what so funny?" His scowl deepened when Tony chuckled deeply and replied with a teasing, but gentle, "didn't realise your old fella was such a _fearsome_ beast is all." Before Neal could offer an outraged denial of same, Tony suddenly stopped laughing as more barking filled the air.

"DiNozzo! Didn't I tell you to gas this damned truck the last time we took it out? Where is he?! DiNozzo!"

It was Neal's turn to smirk as the ashen quality spread over Tony's face and the horrified "damn it," escaped his lips. "Better run _DiNozzo,"_ Neal teased, also gently, "your _fearsome beast_ is calling…" Scowling in direct reflection of Neal's previous expression, Tony muttered a miserable "bite me, Caffrey," before speeding up in the direction of his boss' shrieks. Neal's amusement slipped away when he heard the tell tale sound of the now familiar headslap reverberating around the car lot and Tony's quiet "my bad boss."

Damned Gibbs.

Clambering into the back, beside a head rubbing Tony, Neal flashed him a sympathetic look. Ziva and McGee were engrossed in conversation, and Gibbs and Peter sat up front. "You ok?" he asked quietly, and received a rueful grin in response. "Just another day at the office," Tony murmured quietly. Grinning slightly, Neal nodded and with the tiredness both he and his companion felt, the short trip was a silent one. Darting out some minutes later, Neal groaned when he spied the tarp covered body in the middle of the cleared and sectioned off grass area.

All this violence, it made him feel ill.

But Tony appeared to be completely unaffected, and not wanting to appear effeminate, he quickly conned his own facial muscles into impassiveness. Following Peter into the relatively secluded area, he held his breath as the tarp was removed and the bloodied victim was revealed. Quickly averting his gaze, he scanned the surrounding scene. Tony instantly set to work photographing, aided by McGee, whilst Ziva sketched.

Suddenly, the light shone through her dark hair and Neal's initial attraction to her grew all of a sudden. When she turned to get a better view, her strong jaw and tanned skin drew her to him even further. She was stunning, but, she was also terrifying. Neal had never met a woman like her. One that looked angelically beautiful, but would and could snap one's neck in a heartbeat. He just didn't know what to make of her, as he seemed to irritate her. He felt the familiar sense of wounding encase him. He'd never _met_ a woman that didn't take to him.

And that wasn't bragging, or being big headed.

It was just…true.

He was usually flawlessly suave, drawing women to him in their droves, and perhaps that was why he didn't notice. But, he was staring, at her. Just standing, and just staring. Glancing up from taking notes, Gibbs caught the gawping that was being directed his youngest and felt his teeth grind in his skull. With Peter right by his side, he inhaled deeply. "Burke," he muttered, as pleasantly as he physically could, "despite what I think on the matter, if you don't get your boy to stop gawking at my girl, she's going to rip his heart out and stuff it where it should _not_ be stuffed."

Startled, Peter also looked up from his note taking and felt his jaw slacken slightly at the very _un Neal-ish_ behaviour he was observing. Neal didn't gawk, hell; Neal didn't even blink in a way that didn't become him. Racking his brains quickly, he knew he had never seen the kid act this way about a girl. Smiling slightly at the cuteness of it, he nodded briefly and strolled over to his protégée. "Come help me note the signature of the killer please Neal," he muttered quietly, and bit his lips at the jump that careered out of the kid.

Moving behind the elder man, Neal came to his senses and averted his gaze from the body. " _What_ does this have to do with an armed _robber_ Peter?" he hissed quietly. Rolling his eyes at the tone, Peter nudged his reluctant assistant on with an equally quiet "methodology and you know it. Now, stop whining before I _give_ you something to whine about." Pursing his lips as he walked, Neal scowled. "Well, that's original," he muttered under his breath, before wincing at the look that was shot his way.

Softening after a jot, knowing that bodies made the kid uncomfortable, Peter sighed. "C'mon bud, faster we get this done, and learn all we can, the faster we can go home. Ok?" Not being able to refute the merits of that argument, Neal nodded slightly and took in a deep breath. Twenty or so minutes later and he had noted the various, grizzly things that required noting, and managed to keep his breakfast in his gut.

He really, really wasn't for this manual crime scene.

It was _dreadful._

With the arrival of Dr Mallard, the scene began to break up some as the NCIS agents conducted their final sweep, and began reloading the van. Tim and Ziva were busying themselves with carefully poring over their collected data, earning a silent glance of approval from Gibbs, as he turned to search for Tony. At the same time, Peter finished up with, well; more _escaped_ from the very chatty ME, and looked up in search of Neal.

Both mens sighs were loud, and simultaneous.

Gibbs's sigh was more familiar in cause to him, than Peter's was. Neal…was freakishly particular about his clothes, and his hair…and hell, everything about himself. So to see him playfully _scuffling_ with Tony was something of a start. At least, he hoped it was playful scuffling. Either way, it was wildly inappropriate and his temper was rising. One look at the man beside him and he knew he wasn't alone in his exasperation.

His "Neal!" was slightly drowned out by Gibbs' rather ferociously bellowed "DiNozzo!" but both younger men stilled instantly regardless. Guilty looks were exchanged as they released each other and began the sheepish walk back to the van. Peter shook his head slowly, and grabbed Neal's arm as he passed, as Gibbs dealt out the head slap that even the visitors could see coming. Using Tony's yelp and muttered "my bad boss," as cover, Peter spoke quietly and directly into the kid's ear.

"I might not whack your head Neal, but you push me _one_ bit further today and we're going to have a repeat of last night. Am I clear?" The kid flushed as he muttered fervently under his breath, grateful they were both marginally out of sight and out of hearing of the rest of them. Closing the door behind him, Peter thought wistfully of home, and El…and Satchmo. He was planning on learning as much as possible over the next day or so, and then getting the hell out of dodge.

The ride back was uneventful, and soon all were disembarked and engaging in their respective post scene run downs. Hours passed fluidly, and soon a pretty wearied Gibbs called out to his team to call it a day. Upon seeing Neal's hopeful glance in his direction upon hearing same, Peter gave the boy a tired affirmative smile. Soon, the chattering brood were making their way towards the elevator and to Peter's small relief; Neal seemed to be taking to Tim.

They were chatting animatedly and laughing happily. Beside him, he could see a similar look of relief on Gibbs' face. Tony and Neal…they were just too _alike_ for their antics to end well. Tim on the other hand, seemed a sensible kid, and Peter was still hoping he'd rub off on his ward. When they reached the lot, Tim and Ziva said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Tony made his way towards his own car, before realising Gibbs' was in the garage again. "You need a ride boss?" he asked politely, jingling his keys in his hand.

Neal, who was waiting patiently by Peter's side discreetly rolled his eyes at the man and mouthed " _suck up,"_ over Gibbs' shoulder. Scowling, Tony waited for an answer. "No, you're ok DiNozzo," Gibbs murmured, before to the respective _horror_ of the two younger men, clapping Peter on the shoulder. "Burke and I are going to grab a drink, so I'll catch a cab later."

Neal's felt his jaw slacken.

The idea of Peter, alone and defenceless…partially vulnerable through alcohol consumption with that _man_ was horrifying. Blinking, he instantly took in the equally discontented expression on Tony's face. "Uhh…uhh boss, are you uhm…sure?"

Gibbs blinked.

"Yes, Tony, I'm sure," he drawled, "unless you want to check my ID? I assure you, I'm over twenty one. It's just all the grey you four have put in my hair that makes me look old." Peter's chuckle instantly grated on Tony's nerves as he sighed slightly, before looking at Neal with a pointed gaze.

Neal instantly read the look and turned to the man beside him.

"Peter…are you sure you don't want to uhm…go and grab some dinner at that….that place…"

Peter blinked.

"Yes, Neal, I'm sure," he answered slowly, "now, you should be getting back to the hotel because I want today's findings ready for complete review tomorrow and yours still aren't digitised. Your laptop is in there somewhere." Gibbs' approving, sanctimonious nod instantly ground Neal's gears as he sighed.

"How come you get to go out and drink and I have to work?" he grumbled, and was grateful of the approving little noise that Tony made in his throat, before it died there at Gibbs' quailing look. "Because, Neal," Peter replied patiently, "I think you had plenty of _fun_ last night, unless…you want me to go through it all again with you?"

Neal's scowl sent a nearby pigeon fleeing mid peck.

"C'mon, I'll give you a lift Caffrey," Tony muttered, knowing this conversation wasn't going anywhere good. Seemingly coming to the same conclusion, Neal huffed and puffed one last time about double standards, before sweeping off with Tony, the two heads close together in deep conversation at the two older men watched them leave in slight bemusement.

"Any idea what that was about?" Gibbs asked quietly, as he walked towards Peter's car, receiving a snort in answer. Sliding into the driver's seat, Agent Burke let out a soft chuckle. "I think Neal is worried you might rub off on me," he laughed, "he thinks you're a little bit terrifying." Gibbs' proud smile made the slightly younger man laugh all the more as he edged out of the Navy Yard.

An hour or so later, and settling into their second beers, each man was surprised to find themselves liking the guy beside him all the more. Snorting some time later, into his now _sixth_ beer, Peter shook his head in askance horror.

"Why'd you keep marrying them?" he choked. Throwing his eyes up to heaven, and throwing down some more beer, Gibbs' "hell if I know," made the New Yorker laugh all the more. "No long string of Mrs Burke's back home then?" Gibbs teased slightly, fiddling with the beer mat in front of him. The agent in him instantly caught the slightly glazed look that came over his drinking mate's eyes. "No," Peter answered softly, "there's only El. She's…" he blushed and looked down for a moment, "she's the one for me. Always has been."

Nodding slowly, and ordering their seventh drinks, Gibbs ran a hand over his face suddenly feeling a bit sombre. "Yeah…I get that," he murmured, "Shannon…well, she was my El." An instant wave of intense sympathy welled up in Peter as he imagined the unimaginable loss Jethro must have suffered. Before he could _think_ of something tactful to say, his phone suddenly shrieked in his pocket. Grateful for the interruption, he fished it out of his pocket before sighing.

" _Peter, while you have been out getting drunk in a strange city, I've been doing what we came here to do. Report is on the table as you walk in. I hope El wouldn't disapprove of anything you're currently doing. Keep it clean."_

Raising a brow, Gibbs tilted his head.

"Let me guess…Caffrey?" he quipped, grateful for the levity. He didn't need to go all nostalgic on someone he barely knew. He figured his seventh beer, should probably be his last. Rolling his eyes, Peter nodded and pocketed the phone. "Uh huh, complaining that I'm out and he's basically being treated like a downtrodden slave."

Gibbs chuckled.

"That boy of yours Burke," he laughed, shaking his head slightly, "you got your hands full there, I don't envy you." Swigging on his own beer, Peter felt his own brows ascend. "Oh _right,_ because your lad is a smooth sailing breeze, right?" he countered, a teasing grin on his face. Picking at the label on his bottle, Gibbs smirked somewhat.

"You got me there Burke, you got me there…."

Peter smiled slightly as he took in the deflection. "You know, I may not be a _NCIS_ special agent, but I _am_ an agent, and a good one. You can't fool me, you 'd do anything for that kid." As Gibbs looked up at him with a growl in his throat, Peter's grin grew wider. "Go on, tell me I'm wrong?" he demanded with a chuckle.

Sighing in defeat, Gibbs shrugged his shoulders awkwardly and threw down some more beer. "He's a good kid," he admitted quietly, "been on my six for a long time. I guess…he's grown on me, you could say." At Peter's victorious laughter, he scowled heavily. "Aw shut up Burke, you think _I'm_ blind? It's obvious that boy of yours is more than just an _informant."_

Peter, who was more emotionally well rounded than a gruff Jethro, shrugged easily. "He's a good kid as well," he replied quietly, "he's come on in leaps and bounds." At this, Gibbs choked on his beer. "I'd hate to see where he started from then," he chuckled, before backtracking under Peter's ferocious stare.

"Alright, alright," he conceded quietly, "I guess…we were _both_ a little too quick to judge each other's…erm, protégées?" Being able to get on board with that, Peter smiled his part in the semi, sort of there, apology of sorts. "Guess we were," he murmured, "that's not saying there isn't times when _I'm_ legally very close to the brink of murder with my fella."

Barking out a laugh, Gibbs nodded in rueful agreement.

"Tell me about it, Burke, tell me about it….you just try having _four,_ that have that effect on you."

Peter shuddered.

"I'd rather take my early retirement," he countered, "just trying to keep Neal in line takes about everything I got." Beside him, Gibbs nodded slowly. "So I saw when the poor kid tried to sit down today."

The younger man rolled his eyes.

"Just like _yours_ had the _same_ difficulty?" Peter quipped back, to be answered with an easy shrug.

"Whatever works, I know what words with my lot. But…I gotta say, I was surprised at your…erm, methods."

Agent Burke raised a brow.

"Why? Because I don't whack mine upside the head?"

Gibbs snorted, before turning slightly sombre.

"You just thought I was a soft touch who let Neal run riot, right?" Peter surmised for him wryly, being rewarded by a slight flush across his new friend's face. "Maybe," Gibbs muttered, before shrugging his shoulders slightly, "I don't do apologies, but I admit I got that one wrong."

Peter smiled slightly.

"That's ok," he answered sincerely, "most people do."

Gibbs laughed slightly, running a hand through his hair.

"You're not bad Burke," he said quietly, glugging down some more beer as Peter rolled his eyes at the sort of compliment.

"Thanks," he grinned sarcastically, "I guess you'll do as well. For the time being."

Gibbs grinned, accepting the sort of compliment. Before he could utter another word, his cell shrieked in _his_ pocket and he fumbled around for it. Peter noted it took the guy a _long_ time to extract whatever message caused the interruption, and sat patiently.

Therefore the groan that caught his ears took him partially by surprise. Turning, and raising a brow he eyed the slightly older man for a moment.

"Tony?"

Gibbs ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and nodded jerkily.

"Tony."

…..

TBC

…..


	8. The Arrangement

"What's the problem?" Peter asked concernedly, putting down his beer and looking intently at his companion. He was frankly amazed that Tony could be in more trouble already. Even _Neal_ generally waited a respectable week or so before drawing his ire after just receiving it. There was no answer for a moment as Gibbs silently cursed the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. Beginning to feel more and more alarmed, Peter leant forwards slightly.

"Gibbs?" he demanded, "what's the problem?"

Heaving a huge sigh, the slightly older man pushed his beer away. "Your freaking bad influence of a protégée is the problem Burke."

Peter blinked.

"I thought we had _just_ gotten past this?" he bit back, "you cannot sit there and tell me Tony is an angel, and I'll have you know Neal is _not_ a bad influence. And can you really say that Tony is incapable of making his own decisions, and _just_ for the record-"

Gibbs held up a silencing hand.

Peter scowled in affront.

"Oh no, it's not Tony he's corrupting _this_ time," Gibbs barked, "it's _Tim."_ He threw his hands up in the air in frustration, causing the two barmaids to exchange concerned looks. " _Tim,"_ Gibbs repeated in faint askance, "I hardly _ever_ have a problem with him." He shook his head in a ridiculous attempt to knock sobriety into it. "Damn it Burke, can't you control that damned kid?"

Putting a lid on his rising temper, tempered with concern, Peter remained cordial.

"Would you mind elaborating Gibbs?" he clipped out, "if Neal is in trouble, I'd like to _know_ about it." Pulling his cell out his phone, he saw he had no new missed calls or any indications that there was anything wrong afoot. Panic was beginning to set into his gut now. His instructions to his charge had been very clear. Hotel, and work.

Clear and simple.

So naturally, Neal had found some loophole.

Peter closed his eyes.

He wanted El.

And Satchmo.

And peace.

His eyes opened at the realisation that even if he _were_ at home, he would only have the privilege of the first two wants. Peace, since Neal had burst through the doors of his life, had been rarer than all hell. Of course he wouldn't have the kid any other way, well no…he would _gratefully_ settle for a much more socially agreeable Neal…but, all in all, it would take away from the kid's charm.

Or so El told him anyway.

"Gibbs," he snapped angrily when the man didn't respond, "do you want me to play twenty guesses or something? _Where_ are they, _what_ have they done and how _far_ are they and it from here?" He exhaled slowly when the DC native merely shot to his feet and shrugged back into his jacket, flipping his cell open and muttering about a taxi. The minute the call was ended, a now decidedly panicked and sour Peter snatched it out of the man's hand.

"Tell me what is going on," he hissed, "you're not the only one with a lad on the line. _Talk."_

Gibbs stared for a moment, before sighing in chagrin.

He was being an ass.

He couldn't say sorry, so he forced his features into a more gentle mask and sucked in some air. "Tim…" he began slowly, "is something of a uhm…technical do-dah….person."

Peter stared.

"Technical do-dah…person?" he repeated faintly, wondering briefly if the man had been slipping whiskey shot into his beers. He watched as Gibbs nodded impatiently, and waved an equally impatient hand as if _everyone_ should know what a technical _do-dah_ person was. He once again forced himself to keep a hold of his temper, his panic for Neal making him as nearly quick to temper as the man beside him, focussing on storming from the bar and onto the rain soaked streets.

"Yes…good with computers and the like," Gibbs offered slowly, as if explaining the concept of a blue sky to a very confused child. "Apparently… _Neal_ called Tim over to work on the files at the hotel, because _Tony_ was too tired. Apparently…they, and by _they_ , I mean Neal…decided it would just be frigging _ingenious_ to hack into the Smithsonian database to see…if they were expecting or were engaged in talks surrounding a…a uhh…sword…do-dah…"

Peter briefly wondered if this was purgatory.

He briefly wondered about the apparent terribleness of his earthly life and his resultant karma.

"A sword do-dah?"

His voice was raspy, even to him.

Do-dah's aside…wanting an insider's view into the logistics and unpublished dealings of a prestigious museum…sounded right up Neal's alley. Peter felt his soul sink down to the ground. He quickly applied his guard against conclusion jumping. He had sworn not to do that with the kid anymore. He had sworn to always hear him out. "Why would Tim care about a sword do-dah?" he asked dully, craning his neck for the oncoming taxi.

That would take them to….god knows where.

That would be his next question.

"Because he's Elf Lord."

Peter rubbed his throbbing temples and wondered maniacally if perhaps that overly friendly biker woman, Hilda something or other, may _actually_ have roofied him.

"Come again?"

Looking over Peter's shoulder impatiently, Gibbs gave an irritated grunt.

"I don't freaking know Burke. He's Elf Lord, alright? In the…internet, with the worlds and the war crafts and…the what not. Apparently the sword that the museum may or may not be exhibiting is the real life artefact that _inspired_ the sword the uhh…the internet uhm…people, use in the uhh…online killings and such like."

Peter shook his head feebly.

Whatever explanation that was, he didn't understand a word of it.

"Where are they?" he demanded, preferring to deal in facts of the black and white realm. His image of Tim as a suitable, stable influence for Neal was rapidly dwindling. The last thing the kid needed was to hook up with some tech savant with a penchant for… _online killings and such like_.

"Oh…they're in temporary lock up at the FBI downtown."

This little nugget was said quite airily. Much like "oh, no thank you I don't need any more coffee," or "yes that seat is free."

Peter gagged on the air he was drawing in.

"What?!" he all but roared in a now blinking Gibbs' face. "Are you frigging insane? You only mention that fact _now?_ Are you…you didn't…" he rubbed his face in agitation. "Are you a _moron_ Gibbs? Neal is on a work-release programme _run_ by the FBI. And in _case_ it has escaped your _attention…I AM the FBI!"_

The NCIS agent eventually managed to throw his eyes up to heaven.

"Keep your damned panties on Burke," he eventually mumbled in slightly drunken disdain, "I said _temporary_ lock up. Ergo, not processed or on the books lock up. Which, by the way, is solely down to the fact that I have a friend at the bureau…that I now owe _another_ favour to.

Peter gagged some more.

"How…but…. _how?"_

Gibbs pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"I don't know all of the particulars. I just know that the security system at the museum has been heightened recently, and the head IT guy over there is friends with _my_ friend down at bureau and called him for _discreet_ help when an intrusion was noted on their…whatsits. The…computer people then did their business and what not, traced the signal back to Tim's laptop and…I'm sure you get the rest."

"Tim's laptop?" Peter echoed in confusion, "you make it sound like they _knew_ it was _Tim's_ laptop, rather than a location hit, and that's why the touchy feely take down. Something you're not telling me here Gibbs?" Silence ensued for a moment, as a rapidly sobering Jethro continued to crane his neck for the cab before a slightly sheepish expression crossed over his face. "Uhh…not really the first time Tim's…sort of welcomed himself in somewhere…guess his style or whatever mumbo jumbo crap is filed…"

In the lashings of rain, the NY native felt a seething rush of anger.

"Come again?" he barked, "you act like this is all _Neal's_ fault when _your_ angel Tim has a freaking _history_ of hacking protected systems? I…" he ran a hand through his dampening hair and scowled ferociously, "you got some nerve Gibbs, I'll give you that."

Gibbs, for a fleeting moment, had the grace to look slightly abashed.

"Look, Burke," he sighed, "we just need to get our asses down there and sort it out, ok? There could be a totally reasonable….explanation. We don't really know anything yet. Tony couldn't tell me much, other than Tim managed to get a message to him before both he and Neal's cells were removed and Tony called Tobias, who isn't all that _chatty_. There could be uhh…a totally innocent reason behind all of this."

Peter exhaled slowly.

"You don't really think that, do you?"

Mimicking his breathing, Gibbs' nostrils flared as his jaw line tightened.

"Not really," he admitted, "but a guy can dream."

Before Peter could think of anything to say, or fight down the rising knot that was contorting his stomach a cab suddenly squelched its way to their waiting post. Clambering in, Gibbs tersely gave the address and threw himself into his own thoughts. His gut was churning. His friendship, of mutual benefit with Tobias could only stretch so far. He didn't know _what_ to make of Tim's strange behaviour, and no matter how unfair it may seem…his gut was telling him that if wasn't for _Neal,_ McGee would be in bed right now.

Or being Elf Lord.

Either situation suited him fine.

He tried to push down the sole, logical voice in his mind. The one that told him _Neal_ wasn't the one with the computer expertise. That Neal wasn't the one with the strange desire to live as a small creature in a fantasy world. That Neal wasn't exactly the "hold a gun to head," type of guy. He felt his stomach turn over once more at the many potentials this latest debacle had to offer. If he was lucky, and he was praying to whoever was listening that he was, he and Tobias would be able to sort this out amongst themselves.

If he wasn't…then a whole new ball game came into play.

And rightly or wrongly, Gibbs felt a stab of regret that if this didn't go they wanted it to, needed it to…it wouldn't be a fair distribution of consequence. Neal…would go back to prison. There was no two ways about. And as perhaps unfairly quick to judgement as he was with Peter's protégée, he had to grudgingly admit…there was something about the boy.

He made you like him, no matter what.

No matter how much one didn't frigging want to.

He just… _made_ it so.

At the other side of the car, Peter was breathing as steadily as he could. The merry effects of alcohol had slipped away from him like water through the hands as he registered more and more of the situation they were in. He couldn't quite _believe_ that a mere _day_ after Neal's last disaster, they were embroiled in another. He tried to take Gibbs' rather gruff words of comfort to heart. Apparently this friend of his at the bureau could help.

But…if he couldn't.

Peter didn't even want to think about it.

He tried to push down the anger he felt towards the mild mannered McGee. He tried to give equal credit to the small voice telling him that Neal was potentially _the_ most persuasive person he had ever met. And if you didn't know him, and you didn't have an acquired immunity…one flash of that confident grin, and you were done. Tim…was no fool. Peter's instinct him told him the kid was a good agent, and a great agent in the making.

But…that wasn't account for the wiles of Neal Caffrey.

His mind however screamed down the lone voice by pointing out the obvious disparity in consequence distribution. If this whole mess went from the frying pan to the fire, sure…McGee's career might take a hit. But was the Smithsonian the boys were messing around in, not Homeland Security. He couldn't see the lad's job being in danger. There were enough strings in a political hot house like DC to ensure that if the tech genius _did_ incur penalties, they wouldn't be something he couldn't come back from.

Neal…on the other hand, was a different kettle of fish.

He would lose everything.

 _Everything._

Both mens' thoughts were summarily interrupted by the sudden jolting stop of their cab. Hurrying out, they passed through clearance checks without a hitch, both grateful for their ability to shake off the visible effects of liquor, and the mints Peter had forgotten about in his jacket. Soon they were rounding onto a floor that was familiar even to the NY native, given the broad similarities in FBI décor.

Gibbs, was even more familiar with their surroundings.

Coming to a halt at a reception desk, he opened his mouth to ask for Fornell, but was beaten to it. Sauntering down the halls with another agent, right on cue, came Tobias, grinning the usual grin of triumph as he spotted Gibbs and Peter. Bidding adieu to his companion, he turned in their direction and landed himself in front of them.

"Jethro," he chuckled in greeting, before turning to Peter and smiling even broader still. "I take it you must be ahh….Agent Burke, is that right?" Nodding quickly, and accepting the outstretched hand with a perfunctory enthusiasm, the outsider swallowed. Hard. "Where is Neal?" he asked quietly, "what exactly is going on? Have you filed charges? Are you going to file charges? Has his name been entered into _any_ system here? Digital or otherwise?"

Tobias snorted.

"Right down to brass tacks, huh?"

He looked at Gibbs, and jerked his head in a rapidly impatient looking Peter's direction. "I bet you this one's _right_ up your alley Jethro? No room for the small talk. It's why society is suffering you know…no one has the time for a _chat."_

Gibbs growled in his throat.

"Cut the bull Tobias. Answer the man's questions, and tell _me_ where Tim is." Throwing his eyes upwards, the FBI agent sighed dramatically. "You realise, don't you…that I am not the _Director_ of this fine establishment? You get that, right? You see….fellas, the way the legal system works…is, you do the crime, you do the time."

Two answering growls met his speech and he chuckled heartily.

"Aren't you two just the _cutest?"_

Gibbs sucked in a deep breath. "Tobias…I like you, I do. But if you do not tell me where the boys are, I'm going to start getting violent." Rolling his eyes, the shortest of the three sighed in dramatic defeat and turned on his heel. "I guess I can extend visiting hours, seeing as it's _you."_

Following him down the halls, Gibbs cleared his throat pointedly. "What are we looking at here Tobias?" he muttered, and the tone of anxiety stopped any more teasing on Fornell's part in its tracks. Continuing to lead the way, he sighed somewhat. "Well…the museum are considering whether or not to press charges. If they do decide to push for it, we'll have no choice. But…I think they can be persuaded that to have an intrusion of their network as public knowledge, wouldn't exactly be good for business."

He suddenly halted outside a familiar holding area.

"Besides…" he added, looking directly at Peter now, "they uhh…are willing to uhm…enhance the boundaries of Neal's work-release programme, in return for dropping any charges. There's nothing on the books yet. Jed at the museum called me direct, and I handled it with my own men. I have another hour before the log books for today get signed off, and then I have no choice but to…but to…."

His voice trailed off, as other voices made themselves known and grew louder and louder.

Sighing, he strode to a large door, with obscured glass and swiped a key card in agitation. Swinging it open, he beckoned at the two men impatiently. "Could you _please_ control your puppies?" he growled, I get that this place isn't as _specialised_ as you Navy boys' house Jethro, but _really…."_

Exchanging dark looks, Gibbs and Peter moved forwards and peered around the steel door. Both jaws dropped simultaneously as they took in the sight before them. A _very_ giggly Neal and a _very_ giggly Tim in positive hysterics, bent over, clutching their stomachs as tears of laughter rolled down their faces. Deep brown eyes and deep blue eyes widened in utter shock.

Both detainees failed to realise the door was even open, never mind that their respective boss' were standing and staring at them in utter askance. Withdrawing their heads, both turned back to look at a highly disdainful looking Tobias.

"They're….they're _wasted,"_ Peter surmised weakly.

Fornell snorted.

"I'd say so," he agreed wryly.

The three men stared at each other for a moment, before the agent in Peter screeched back into gear. "The enhancement…of Neal's program…what do you mean by that? What do _they_ mean by that? He barked out, jolting Gibbs out of his reverie. "Yeah," he mumbled suddenly, being struck by an _annoying_ desire to protect Neal, "what exactly do you…they, _mean?"_

He shook his head.

What was _wrong_ with him?

That Caffrey kid wasn't even one of _his._

Leaning against the open cell door, and to the backdrop of more raucous laugher, Tobias shrugged.

"I don't think either of you are going to like it…."

The matching growls were once again heard, and Fornell held up his hands in chuckling defeat. "Well, Burke…turns out the museum have _heard_ of your boy wonder in there….not that many museums _haven't._ And…well, they're in a bit of a bind. They have a _lot_ of high profile exhibits due over the next while…and they want an entire revamp of their security, starting with their cyber protection…of which you can see, the labour is highly fruitful."

He scratched his head.

"And…to their mind, what better what to outsmart the best criminals than _use_ the very _best_ art thief, forger and general menace known to man." He chuckled for a moment, taking in the looks on both mens faces before continuing. "They want your boy, Burke. They want him to work with their security team to close off _all_ possible routes of entry they haven't scoped out, figure out what pieces are vulnerable…bla bla bla."

He smiled once more at the dawning looks of comprehension on both faces.

"Shouldn't take any more than three weeks."

Grinning widely he couldn't help but chortle at the horror staring back at him.

"Four tops."

…

TBC

…

A/N: Guess Neal and Peter are extending their working holiday!

(I know nothing of WoW, all that sword crap is made up as is the legality of FBI-Museum bartering!)

Thoughts?

-Inks


	9. Mi Casa es tu Casa

The cab driver felt his lips twitch upwards but wisely said not a word. The man directly beside him was stony and mute, his jaw tight and his eyes flashing. The other man in the back was less stonily silent, simply because he had to be. The two younger men beside him continued to snort with laughter and slur about the relative merits of a completely coin based society, the technology involved and the opportunity for theft. The man whom the cabbie had long since deduced to be Peter seemed to be running out of steam in attempting to silence the spluttering duo.

However, his co-passenger seemed to seize his moment of weariness to come to his aid.

Swivelling around in his seat, the man whom the cabbie had supposed to be called _boss,_ shot the pair a look that made his hands on the wheel tremble automatically. There were no words accompanying that look, and the slightly plumper one nudged the slightly thinner one urgently, pressing a finger to his lips in silence. The other wasted guy didn't need telling twice and visibly quailed under the look that was shot their way. Beside them, Peter wondered faintly if he would ever achieve that level of efficiency.

He rather feared _not._

Gibbs had a stare than even _he_ wouldn't like to be on the end of.

Patting his pockets absentmindedly for his hotel room keys, seeing their turn coming up ahead he felt himself frown. He patted again. And again. Up front, the cabbie was beginning to wonder if the older dude was as out of it as the younger two. He felt his brows raise. These four were definitely a bit on the odd side. If he had to guess, he would have said that these were two seriously pissed off fathers, dragging two seriously wasted sons out of lock up.

Glancing back at the three behind him, he shook his head internally.

None of them looked anything alike.

"What's the matter Burke?" Gibbs asked quietly, catching the patting movement out of the corner of his eye. The driver nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. He was half near the conclusion this strange, very clearly incensed grey haired guy was a mute. Or a monk. A mute monk. "I can't find the key's…" Peter trailed off as he reached over and ran an agent's frisk over a now mildly snoring Neal, and found to his dismay that the kid didn't have so much as a keychain on him, never mind a key. A dawning of realisation crossed him as he realised his mistake. In the din of the phone call from Tony and the racing from the bar, he'd left the keys on the counter.

Of a bar that was now well and truly closed.

He groaned.

It would take ages to talk his way through the rather stern receptionist at the hotel, and a drunken, snoring Neal in toe would definitely _not_ help. A quick glance over at the boy revealed he was still slumbering, with Tim's head lolling on his shoulder as he succumbed to tiredness and intoxication. He groaned again.

"It's going to be a nightmare to talk my way through the hotel with no keys and Mr Conversationalist over here."

Gibbs twisted around and glanced back. The sight of the two causes of the commotion slumbering so contentedly made him shake his head in exasperation. "You two can stay at mine," he offered quietly, "I'm bringing Tim anyway, there's no point waking up the whole place trying to get your poster boy for rehabilitation through reception."

Peter smiled in gratitude, ignoring the jibe he knew he couldn't in that moment defend.

He was just too damn tired to do anything else.

"Thanks," he muttered appreciatively, and sat back in tiredness as Gibbs redirected the driver straight back to his place. The rest of the ride was quiet, save for the occasional drunken mutterings coming from Tim. Peter raised a brow as Gibbs shook his head when the slurred, slumbering "no…noo…I ordered the sixty _four_ gi…gigabyte one…" Peter was struck by a sudden suspicion that no matter how much his NCIS counterpart protested Tim's angelic innocence, this was _not_ the first time he'd had to drag the kid home while he was completely out of it.

Mercifully the cab came to a stop some minutes later outside Gibbs' place, who quickly paid and hopped out. The driver watched in complete and utter bemusement as he crossed to the back door and began helping Peter shake and prod awake their companions. Cooperation was _not_ the flavour of the month as each kid scowled and recoiled away from their awakening. Gibbs was the first to lose his cool as he growled so fiercely into the car the driver shuddered. "Timothy McGee I know you can hear me and this is your _final_ warning. Get your head off of Neal right now and get _out_ of this car."

Peter gave a short nod of approval.

He would _very_ much like Tim to unfurl himself from Neal so he could drag his ass inside.

When there was no response, only, and much to the cabbie's amusement an increased level of sleeping serenity between the two, Gibbs and Peter exchanged exasperated looks. Each moved in synchronisation. Throwing open the door, Peter reached round and expertly hooked his hands under Neal's arms and heaved his slight frame right out of the car, still managing to remain gentle. At the same time, and with the same level of expertise, hands swooped under Tim's arms and pulled him from the car.

The two drunkards parted ways with a shock.

Their eyes flew open as the cool night air hit them, and their upright stance slapped them. Shutting the doors in harmony with one hand, Gibbs and Peter quickly returned the limb to their respective charge's shoulders. Driving off without a word, the driver waited until he was a respectable distance away to burst into laughter.

They'd brightened _his_ night, if nothing else, those two.

"Oh to be young," he muttered to himself with a grin, "thank god they're not mine."

Neal and Tim were quickly finding their own feet, the cold washing over them like a tingling shower. Neal bucked against Peter's hold, as did Tim against Gibbs. Neither of them were successful. "Oh no you don't," Gibbs sighed, as he tightened his hold and heard a similar muttering and tightening behind him. Within a minute he had the door open and was guiding a spluttering McGee into the familiar, for him, living room.

Familiarity was not Neal Caffrey's friend at that moment however.

Looking around the unseen home, he baulked once more against Peter's careful hold. "Where…where _are_ we….Peter?" He twisted round in horror. "You're not…this is…is _his_?...You're not leaving me….you're st…staying too?" As mad as he was with him, and as much as he could have warmed the backside right off of him, Peter couldn't help his gentle smile for a moment. "I'm staying," he reassured calmly, "I'm here bud, it's ok."

Neal instantly relaxed in his arms.

There was a corresponding relaxing as Tim digested his familiar surroundings and familiar scents. Gibbs' place was a safe place. He was ok if he was there. He could smell the wooden, old spice aroma of his boss and knew he would be ok. Through the haze of his drink befuddled mind he knew he would only be fine for a while. There was a nagging feeling at the back of his skull that somehow that might be different tomorrow.

Gibbs, keeping his hold on a slightly swaying McGee turned round to Peter who retained a similar hold on a similarly swaying Neal. "My two basically have a room here, so I'm going to bring Tim up. There's a guest room up the stairs, last door on the left. Two beds. Make yourself at home. I'll be right back." Peter smiled his thanks, and as he watched Gibbs gently guide Tim up the stairs it hit him.

A lot of the gruffness was just a front.

He knew the look on the man's face as he carefully steered a now chuckling McGee upstairs.

It was the look El insisted that he only wore when it came to Neal.

Shaking himself into action, he guided his drunken ward towards the stairs. It was a slow, laborious process and despite Neal's slight frame, Peter was panting with the exertion of it all by the time they reached the upper level of the house. "Do…do youuu… _think…_ that uhh…that you could you…you know…not…te _…tell_ uhmm… El about this?"

Counting the doors as he led the kid down the hall, Peter shook his head in exasperation. "You are going to bed now Neal, and we can discuss anything and everything else tomorrow. Right now, all I want to hear from you is snoring." With that, Neal fell silent. Peter wasn't naïve enough to know it was because of his stern speech. He knew the boy had seen the painting in the hall that even he knew was good. He said a silent prayer to whatever entity might be listening that the painting would still be there tomorrow.

He did _not_ need LJ Gibbs on his ass.

Several minutes later saw him guiding a fully clothed Neal into the single bed nearest the window. He removed his shoes, but knew the kid well enough to know that he would despise the idea of sleeping in a strange house in anything else but his finest silk night ends. He unbuttoned the pristine shirt collar and removed the tie. Drawing back the covers as Neal practically slept against him, having succumbed to tiredness once more, he carefully propelled him into the bed.

The relief that he faced no fight on the matter was in that moment, quite staggering.

Neal was snoring the minute he hit the pillow, and Peter pushed the hair out of his eyes carefully before retreating from the room. Turning out the light and closing the door half ways, he padded back downstairs. He saw that Gibbs must have been successful in depositing his charge as he caught sight of the back of his head rooting around in the fridge. As he straightened up, Peter smiled as he accepted the extended beer. He followed his impromptu host as he led the way to the living room, and crashed down on the sofa.

They looked at each other in silence for a moment.

"Another month?"

Peter spluttered around his beer at Gibbs' question. He frankly didn't see a way out of it. To him, no matter what, Neal and his deal came first. He felt a moment's terror at the idea of explaining to El that he could and most probably would be way for another three to four weeks. If the kid thought he had it bad copping _his_ ire, he had no idea what was in for him when his wife discovered his antics. As much as she loved the boy, it would _not_ be pretty.

"I guess so," he agreed wryly, taking a long draught. "But…I mean, the worst is surely over now?"

Gibbs' raised eyebrow was so sceptical it didn't require any verbiage.

"Yeah," Peter conceded with a sigh, "I know."

Gibbs shook his head slowly. "You know, I knew Neal would hit it off with Tony. They're two peas in a pod. But I didn't think he and Tim would be…a _thing."_ Peter chewed over this for a moment, before shrugging slightly. "Neal's…complicated," he explained quietly, "he can be a charmer, like Tony. But he's…pretty academic, like Tim."

Gibbs pondered this for a moment, and found himself agreeing.

"He's like a mix of the two of them."

He snorted.

"You poor, _poor_ son of a bitch."

Peter couldn't help but snort in laughter. "I think I'd rather _one_ mix of yours, than _both_ of yours," he countered with grin, "I don't think my mental health could stick it. How you have four is beyond me." Gibbs shrugged off the compliment. "The girls don't cause me as much grief," he admitted with a smirk, "but when they do, they tend to overachieve. But…surely you have more than just Neal for a team?"

Peter nodded.

"Sure…I got Diana and Jones back in New York. But…they're a lot…uhh…."

Gibbs laughed quietly.

"Less work?"

"Exactly."

Nodding knowingly, Gibbs picked at the label on his bottle. "But…Neal, he's…your guy?" Unconsciously mirroring the attack on the beer label, Peter peeled absentmindedly. "Yeah," he said quietly, "he's my guy. I know…you think that he's just a trouble maker, but you don't know him Gibbs. He's a good kid. A great kid, actually. He's…just not had it easy."

There was silence for a moment.

"You're wrong."

Peter instantly felt his hackles raise, but they were swiftly quietened.

"I _don't_ think that he's just a trouble maker," Gibbs explained slowly, "I've been around Burke. I can see he's a good lad. A bit…high spirited, sure…but a good kid."

Peter looked surprised for a moment, before smiling a warm smile with just a hint of embarrassment.

Before either of them could recover from what had suddenly become a rather intimate conversation, that neither were sure they were comfortable with, a noise alerted them. They stilled for a moment, their bottles raised mid air. Another thud let them know they hadn't imagined it. Both leapt from the couch and were up the stairs in a time that completely belied their collective age.

Gibbs sped to Tim's door, as Peter sped to Neal's.

Inching it open, he felt his heart sink when he saw the bed was empty. If anyone could escape, it was Neal. But the window was still fastened from the inside. A smell suddenly assailed his nostrils and he recoiled slightly. Flicking on the light, he sighed. Where Neal _had_ been, was now playing host to a rather spectacularly large pile of vomit. He shook his head, worry lapping him. He turned to find the bathroom, assuming the boy was throwing up a gut.

But he was stopped.

"Over here, Burke."

Peter blinked. Gibbs' voice was quiet, and deliberately so. He backtracked and followed the voice, halting at his host's side. Moving out of the way, Gibbs pushed open the door to Tim and Tony's commandeered room without a word. Peering inside, Peter stared for a moment. And then for _another_ moment. There were two beds in this room too, but larger than singles. For whatever reasons, Neal had apparently chosen to ignore the perfectly decent made up spare, and had thrown himself on top of the covers of Tim's bed. His back was to his new friend, and both of them were snoring with an intensity that was amazing given the brevity of Neal's room change.

Peter and Gibbs exchanged looks.

"Should…we err… just leave them?"

Nodding with an eye roll and a barely hidden smile, Gibbs closed the door quietly. The two men swapped glances one more, in the amber light of the hallway. Peter winced when the predictable happened, and Gibbs' frow burrowed and his sigh echoed around the hall.

"What…the hell is that _smell,_ Burke?"

…..

TBC

…..

A/N: I want this to be a kind of light hearted fic, so it's not going to be too serious, hence this chapter!

Thoughts?


	10. Fight or Flight

It wasn't too bad, really. The dull thudding was to be expected, and the sunbeam of light that was somehow making its way through his closed eyes was gentle, all things considered. His throat was dry and tight and he cleared it half-heartedly, laying immobile. A thirst gripped him and he prayed to high heaven that the hotel at least stocked water in their rooms. Opening one eye an inch, he opened the other fully in confusion.

This room, although darkened, didn't have the same formation of the now familiar hotel room.

Blinking through the truck-like migraine that was beginning to pierce its way through his mind, he felt even more confused. This room was nothing like the modern hotel room. This room was much more akin to that typical guest room in some old timer's house. Rubbing a hand across his eyes, he sighed. He really shouldn't have drank as much as he did last night. He felt as through a branded iron was being shoved down his throat, as he stirred feebly to his side.

Before yelping and springing out of the bed with a howl.

Tim opened his eyes slowly and hurriedly at the same time. The sudden yelp stirred him from a deep sleep, and he groaned as consciousness gripped him. Before scrambling up in the bed, his knees tangled up in the heavy bed clothes. Looking at Neal in horror as he stared at him in equal horror from his position on the floor, he was beginning to feel sick. Really sick. His eyes bulged as the nausea began to engulf him, and he grasped at his cuttingly dry throat in misery.

"Why were you in my bed?" he managed to hiss, sounding like a wounded puppy, "Why are you in Gibbs' _house?"_ He looked around in askance, running a hand through his limp hair. "Why am _I_ in Gibbs' house?" He dropped his head into his propped up knees and let out a low, guttural groan. "What in the hell happened last night?"

Neal, for once, didn't have an answer.

Sitting on the floor in a rather ungainly heap, he sucked in a slow breath. He needed to think, and think clearly. Grasping a handful of his wildly tousled hair in his hands, he focussed on simply inhaling and exhaling. Snippets of the night before began to dance a fragmented march in front of his eyes as he breathed slowly. There had been reports, and there had been Tim. Then there had been reports, Tim and liquor.

His electric blue eyes almost shrank into his skull as more and more information flooded back.

They'd gotten talking, they'd discovered they had way more in common than they could of possibly thought. Talking had turned to thinking, and thinking had turned to doing. There'd been laptops, subterfuge and laughter. Museum's and swords soared across his mind's eye as his heart began to hammer wildly in his chest. The Smithsonian…they'd hacked it. Well, tried to. There'd been a shut down, an alarm. There'd been laughter and more alcohol.

Then…there'd been hammering at the door, and a ride to a cold station with distinctly unpleasant fed's. It had all seemed downright hilarious at the time, right down to the holding cell door being slammed shut upon them. They'd gotten out though…they'd…..

His groan was more akin to a strangled cat than a human male.

Peter.

…Peter and Gibbs.

They'd come for them.

A sickening feeling of cold, concrete dread began to seep without him. Glancing up in ashen faced horror, one look at Tim's face let him know that he'd also been taking a trip down memory lane. His eyes were wide and terrified looking, and he instinctively seemed to be drawing his blankets around him like a cocoon. For the first time, Neal registered the time from the blinking alarm clock beside the bed housing his partner in crime.

It was gone eight in the morning.

Gibbs would definitely be up…and so would Peter. Somehow, Neal just knew that his handler had spent the night at Chez Gibbs also, and it sent chills down his spine. He'd pulled some capers in his time, but this…this was enough, more than enough to revoke his deal. He swallowed hard. Peter had no connections that he knew of in DC. Not like at home, where he could artfully pull strings and keep him out of hot water, until of course he dealt with him himself.

He felt the room spin.

In the bed, things weren't going much better for Tim McGee. Last night's antics had come back thick and fast, and he was in possession of a full run down of events. He was dead. There was no other way to describe it, his life span had been chomped, stomped and bulldozed upon. He saw the time, and felt even sicker. Gibbs would be sitting at the kitchen table right this very minute, sipping his coffee, weighing the pros and cons of a murder sentence over his head.

Somehow, Tim was painfully aware that Gibbs could do hard time without blinking an eye.

It wasn't a reassuring thought.

"Was nice knowing you Tim."

The NCIS portion of the duo nearly jumped at the raspy voice, so unlike Neal's previous tones, and swallowed hard. "You too," he managed to splutter, staring down at his armed tent of bedclothes in a peak of misery. They couldn't stay holed up in the room forever, they eventually would have to descend to the gallows that waited below. The two sat in silence for another minute, Neal with his back to the wall, curled up in a defensive ball, Tim with his barrage of blankets.

"Should…should we go down?" Neal eventually asked slowly, the words cutting a hole in his bitterly sore throat. Glancing wildly to the door, Tim shook his head vehemently, the nausea rising with every second.

"We can't go down there," he gasped, "do you have _any idea_ how pissed Gibbs is going to be?"

Neal shuddered, before shrugging miserably.

"Peter isn't exactly going to be waiting for me with open arms either," he muttered miserably, "but the longer we make them wait, the angrier they're going to get."

Tim frowned at the robustness of this rationale. He knew that keeping Gibbs waiting any longer than they already had would just cause the man more ire, but he couldn't quite act upon it. The look of disappointment he knew would be on his boss' face was making him as stationary as a statue. He took things more to heart than Tony did, and it took him a long time to shake off any incident where he let Gibbs down.

Neal wasn't faring much better. He had promised Peter he wouldn't do anything to mess up their stint in DC. And he had already broken that promise, not once, but twice. He could acutely visualise that look of sheer disappointment on his face, his heart sinking with a rapid force at the image. But hiding out all day wasn't going to make it any better either, they needed to just face the music.

The very painful music.

Standing up shakily, he leant against the wall beside the window and groaned. He needed fresh air. Opening the curtains, and ignoring Tim's yelp of disgust, he threw open the window and breathed in the crisp morning air deeply. Staring out at the rather obsessively kept yard, with the tree breezing jauntily beside the window ledge, he sighed.

He'd never really taken the time to stop and smell the roses.

And now he never would, because he was about to die.

His clothes from last night clung to him, and he felt an inescapable grime grasp him. He breathed in deeply some more, as the feelings of utter misery continued to spread throughout him. He knew he needed to just face Peter, he did. But he was just too consumed with guilt and regret to do it. He'd embarrassed his boss and friend, ruined his deal and broken the one promise Peter had asked of him. How in the hell could he face him after all that?

His eyes roved the merrily dancing branches of the tree once more, before narrowing.

He was suddenly seized by desperation based inspiration. He just needed a little time... that was all. A little time before coming head to head with Peter. A little breather before bidding him adieu, and preparing to adorn an orange jumpsuit once more. A little space before seeing that look of inevitable resignation in his eyes.

He glanced down at his feet, socked, with no shoes.

He shrugged internally.

It was dry.

Shoes were superfluous.

Glancing back at Tim who was staring at him intently, he shrugged slightly. Instantly, realisation dawned on his new friend's rather clammy face. "Don't," he rasped out in horror, "don't Neal…you'll make it a hundred times worse. Don't be an _idiot,_ come back from there. Come _back_ from there you moron."

Neal shook his head slowly.

"You don't understand…." he mumbled, "I let him down…."

Tim spluttered.

"And you think, what? That Gibbs is going to proud as punch of _me?_ He's going to _kill_ me, but that doesn't mean I should shimmy down a freaking tree and make my escape. You do realise you'll have to come back eventually, right? Imagine how much worse it'll be." He rubbed a hand through his hair in frustration. "Close that damned window, get back in here and let's just go down and get it over with already."

Neal pondered for a moment, a chasm of conflicting emotion erupting inside him.

His gut contracted as he snapped to his decision.

"Tell them that I was gone when you woke up," he instructed urgently, hoisting one leg easily up on the window sill and dragging his slim frame upwards. Grasping the frames of the window firmly, he looked back over his shoulder at a gawping, horrified Tim. "You didn't see me," he hissed quietly, "I was gone when you woke up. Tell them that…" he shimmied around, positioning himself closer to the tree to make the relatively easy leap. "I just need time," he explained rather manically, "I just need some _time…"_

Before Tim could open his mouth once more, he was gone. Leaping from the window with a cat like gait, easily reaching the tree and clambering down it with a staggering ease. Dropping down on the springy ground, he ran a hand over his face. There was no going back now. The kitchen window faced the other way around from the tree, so his escape was clear. Keeping low anyway, he dashed across the leafy ground, his odd dress fitting the oddness of the scene.

Scooting through the gate, he glanced once up and down the deserted street.

And then he was gone.

Five minutes had passed since Neal's departure, and still Tim sat in dumbfounded horror at the open window, with the curtains billowing in the slight breeze. He couldn't quite believe his eyes as he continued to sit aghast. Sucking in a deep breath, he suddenly felt his heart still. There was a loud rap on the door that could only have come from one person.

He turned an impossible pale, his head swivelling slowly towards the looming door.

His tonsils seemed to constrict his breathing.

The knock thundered again, and the handle turned slowly. It all seemed to happen in slow motion as he sat further back in the bed, beginning to sweat profusely. With a horror movie speed, the door creaked open and revealed his visitors.

Plural.

Peering around the door, looking far from impressed stood one Peter Burke and one Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Quickly locating the source of his own ire, Gibbs locked his gaze upon a horrified and squeaking Tim, as Peter attempted to do the same.

And failed.

A quick sweep of the room told both men in no uncertain terms that it housed no Neal Caffrey. Having passed the bathrooms, and guest rooms…there was nowhere else for him to logically be. Swivelling a collective gaze on an ashen Tim, Peter broke the stony silence.

"Where is Neal, Tim?"

The junior NCIS agent quailed visibly, as Peter's brow rose higher and higher into his hairline. Glancing at Gibbs for some assistance, with his own sense of dread growing, the FBI agent swallowed his irritation.

"Tim," Gibbs growled, "where the hell is that damned Caffrey kid?"

There was a silence so dense it seemed to bellow around the spacious room. Tim sucked in a mouthful of air as he felt a war rage within him. He knew he should protect Neal as best he could, but he also knew that it was two against one and it was a battle he was destined to lose. His brow was quickly being covered by a sheen of intense perspiration. His chest was beginning to ache with the effort of his hammering heart as he faced two glowering patriarchs.

" _Tim,"_ Gibbs thundered, his patience rapidly leaving him, "Answer me this damned instant."

Feeling like the most treacherous Benedict Arnold possible, Tim felt his heart sink. Raising a shaking hand, he somehow managed to point a trembling appendage in the direction of the curtains that were dancing in the wake of a merry wind, framing the wide open window. He watched in acute misery as Gibbs' and Peter's heads slowly pivoted to follow his direction, their faces displaying an almost spasmodic flow of emotion.

Tim cleared his throat, his gut churning. When he spoke, his voice was a shadow of its usual enthusiasm. It dripped and leaked with the torn feeling he was experiencing, his eyes clouding over with the dismal misery of the entire situation.

"He just needed some time…."

…

TBC

…


	11. Room Service

"I know how far and how fast you can run when you want to. So what happened? Realised that running around DC in this weather without any shoes isn't all that much fun?" Dropping down beside his drooped and shivering ward, Peter instinctively took off his jacket and draped it around Neal's slim shoulders. His pursuit, minus Gibbs at his own insistence, had been short as he knew it would. Deep in his gut when an ashen Tim had reluctantly explained Neal's nosedive, he knew he wouldn't have gone far.

Neal had really come on strides in reasoning over gut instinct.

"I didn't know where else to go," the younger man murmured, his head bowed against the cruel wind. "I like this park, reminds me of one in Paris. Kate and I used to sit there for hours and hours on end, and never got bored."

Peter felt a sudden pang of sadness.

"Its how you found me isn't it?" Neal asked quietly. "You know about the park in Paris, and you know I'd go somewhere that has significance in an unfamiliar city?" Chewing his lip and nodding slowly, Peter let out a sigh. "You know there's not much I don't know about your down-time in Europe kid…there's a lot I don't know about your escapades there, but…to find you, you know I had to know you."

Neal turned to face him for the first time. There was an almost shimmering sadness in his eyes.

"So I guess you know I'm a coward then?"

Confusion must have splashed across Peter's face, because Neal let out a sigh of frustration. "I ran, again. It's what I do, Peter, what I've always done. Do you know how Tim reacted when I was on that window? Like I was insane. Like the thought never even crossed his mind, or if it had, he would never have acted on it. And he has that… _Gibbs_ to answer to. I only have you, and I still ran."

Peter raised a delicate brow with pursed lips.

" _Only_ me? What, I'm not hard enough on you, is that it?"

Alarm shot across Neal's face as he shook his head wildly. "No no…that's not what I meant," he spluttered, his usually flawless speech hurried, "I just mean that, erm…in comparison to Gibbs, you're less…horrifying." Peter worked hard to keep the instinctive chuckle within him. The anger and disappointment quickly swallowed it up as he frowned heavily.

"Trust me, Neal, I feel pretty horrifying right now. You've pulled some stunts. But this is definitely at the top of the damned list." He glanced down at the kid's socked feet and sighed in despair. "Come on, you'll catch your death," he stood, and placed a gentle arm under Neal's elbow, guiding him up. "We'll get a cab back to the hotel, and then you need to eat something."

Before Neal could protest that he wasn't hungry, a sleepy cabbie had his coffee disturbed as Peter bundled him into the back of his cab. The ride back was silent. Peter was conflicted. He was furious, and he was disappointed. But he was also relieved. And he was conflicted about that relief. Before Neal had come into his life, he had maintained and endorsed a black and white interpretation of the law and of the facts. But…now everything was a varying shade of grey, each carrying its own characteristics and mitigations.

He was furious with Neal for tinkering around in a national museums database, but he both knew and understood the kid's impulsive streak. He was enraged and disappointed about the window dive, but he both understood and was unsurprised by it. A familiar sense of weariness draped over him as the cab trundled on. Neal wasn't uttering a word, a sure sign of his own inner turmoil.

If the kid wasn't plea bargaining, he was thinking.

Deeply.

All too soon for either mens liking, the cab pulled up outside their temporary home. The elevator ride to their floor was equally silent, save for the scandalised tutting of an elderly resident as she exited on principle of Neal's lack of shoes. Following Peter with his uncharacteristic muteness and mitigation pleas, the informant was growing paler by the minute. Images of steel bars, unshaven and unkempt roommates swum in his mind's eye.

It took every ounce of inner strength he possessed not to upend last night's booze.

He ducked in through the door Peter held open for him, and consciously avoided his disappointed gaze. Throwing himself down on the spare bed, he dropped his head in his hands with a groan. Muffled sounds of Peter moving around the room were lost to him as the pounding headache marched on behind his eyes. His stomach was churning and the panic was mounting within him. The fact that birds were chirping merrily outside the hotel window was suddenly bizarre to him.

The day already felt one hundred hours old.

"Look at me."

Now the day felt two hundred years old.

Slowly pulling his head out of his hands, his fringe sticking to his damp palms, Neal gulped and looked up. The tall glass of cold water and the two proffered paracetamol made his stomach writhe with guilt. "Take them," Peter commanded quietly, "You're as white as a sheet. I'm going to order some food up here for you. You're going to take a shower while we're waiting."

Neal looked at him mutely, before swallowing the pills and draining the glass in one. Peter pointed to the door. "Go to your room and get showered now. You've got twenty minutes to be dressed and back in here." He took the empty glass from the younger man's head with an exasperatedly angry glare. "Go on now, move it. Quickly."

There was no room for argument.

When the door shut quietly behind his reprobate, Peter sank down onto the bed and let out a soft groan. He was at a complete loss. He was tired and he was fed up, but most of all, he was concerned as all hell. If Neal didn't comply with the opportunistic demands of the museum, there would be no way from him to stop the fallout. If Neal did comply with the opportunistic demands of the museum, there would be no way to stop the fallout from his wife. Somehow, he managed to work through his conflicts to order a sizeable breakfast order before collapsing on his bed to think about his conflicts some more.

Peter suddenly wished he was agreeable to daytime binge drinking.

Fishing his cell out his pocket with a sigh, he answered the sudden vibration. "Hey Gibbs…" Running a hand through his hair and nodding and murmuring, the call passed by in a haze. "No, I'll make sure he doesn't leave my sight….we'll see you in the afternoon. Good luck with Tim. Yeah…thanks." Hanging up the cell, he was once again reminded by of how incorrect first impressions often were. A minute of reflection later and a slightly more presentable Neal padded in, dressed in jeans and one of his outrageously expensive plain white t-shirts.

He hovered nervously in the doorway.

Peter swallowed a sigh. Neal and nervousness were normally so far removed it was jarring to see them so intertwined. Gesturing at the table in the corner of the room, that was now bathed in strong morning light, he heaved himself up. "Sit down; breakfast will be here in a minute." Grateful for something to do more than anything, Neal complied. A knock sounded at the door a moment later, and Peter accepted the food order, placing it down in front of his now nauseated looking charge.

"Don't give me that look," he said quietly, sitting down opposite Neal, "Eat it."

As the younger man slowly and dubiously picked up a fork and picked at the eggs in front of him, Peter breathed deeply. "I don't know how much of last night you remember, but you clearly remembered enough to take a nose dive out that window this morning. Now, this is the situation. The Smithsonian won't press charges, if you consult with them over the coming weeks. If you don't, they will. If they don't press charges, there is no effect upon your deal. If they do, it's done…you're done."

He held up a hand as a stunned looking Neal made to interrupt him.

"Yes, I know you thought there was no way of working around this and you were going back, but here we are. Now…it's up to you what option you take. Obviously, I have to stay with you if you choose to accept the museums offer. If you do, I will deal with…the disgrace and disrespect you've brought on both yourself and myself, and you'll do what the museum wants and we get the hell out of here. If you don't, then I can't save you. You're going back, and there's not one thing I can do about it."

He splayed his hands across the table.

"Those are your options."

Struggling to digest both the unwanted food and the truckload of information, Neal stared.

"I have a choice?"

Peter nodded tersely, and Neal flinched at the blazing fury and disappointment in his eyes.

"Not that you deserve it, but yes."

A sticky silence followed, as Neal swallowed hard.

"What about Tim?"

Peter glared. "I think you have enough troubles of your own to be worrying about Tim. He doesn't have a deal to breach with the FBI, so I'm sure he'll be fine. Now, we've the morning off to make a decision and deal with this one way or another. No time to waste. I don't have the patience right now to give you some quiet time and some hot tea to make a call on this. So, what's it to be Neal? Museum service or jail? And don't ask me what you should do, because apparently I have no idea what works with you. Nothing I've tried seems to have worked, so it's your shout. Entirely."

Neal put the fork down as a bad job and looked down with a writhing guilt.

"Peter, I-"

The elder man held up a silencing hand.

"Save it. I've heard it all before, haven't I? Just make a decision as I _do_ have a wife that I need to inform if my supposed and simple week away has morphed into a near month away."

Neal flinched.

"You want me to make the decision to go back?" he asked quietly, looking with difficulty straight into the eyes of the man across the table. Anyone who didn't know Neal better would think that the question was without substance, a mere attempt to garner sympathy. But Peter did know Neal better, and he softened somewhat at the question. It was a genuine one, and if he answered in the affirmative he knew Neal would choose that option. He was a lot of things, but cowardly and self serving were not among them.

"You know I don't want that son," he replied with a sincere sombreness, "I'd never want that."

The younger man chewed his lip and nodded slowly.

"Would you have to stay here? Really? Can't…I dunno, a Marshall or something?"

Peter shook his head slowly.

"Nope. You know it can't be like that Neal, it has to be me. My deal, my responsibility."

Frowning sadly, the kid nodded. He knew it couldn't be like that. Guilt bubbled inside him. He didn't want to cause Peter any more trouble, but he didn't want nor couldn't go back to prison. He just couldn't. Regret crushed him as he looked into the lined face across the table. The stress was splashed across Peter's face, and Neal knew he was acutely responsible.

"Please…I don't….I can't…I mean..."

Anyone who didn't know Neal would better would think the normally verbose young man was having some kind of a seizure, but Peter did in fact know better. Nodding slowly, he chewed his lip thoughtfully for a moment. "You understand that decision means your punishment lies with me for this?" he asked slowly, "And you understand just how very furious, pissed off and downright disappointed I am with and in you at the moment?"

Neal nodded a miserable affirmation to both questions.

"Let me be clear here," Peter continued quietly, and stood. "This is beyond the usual trip over my knee, but you'll be getting that as well. But," he paused to remove his belt with an expertise that made Neal's mouth run dry. Placing the thick, leather belt on the table between them, Peter sighed sadly. "But you'll be getting this as well. Much as I'd rather do anything else, much as I'd rather make up some excuse or reason that you don't need or deserve it, you do. And that's the sad truth of the matter. So…that being said, do you still want to stick to your decision?"

Alternating his gaze between Peter and the belt that seemed to loom large, Neal barely repressed a shudder. It was rare, very rare that the belt came into question. Though much of his screw ups were spectacular, Peter was slow, very slow to take a belt to him. Remembering the few occasions where Peter hadn't been so slow, Neal again repressed a shudder. That belt was no joke, and although lacking in experience with it, Agent Burke certainly applied it with expertise.

Neal's hangover suddenly seemed to intensify as he nodded slowly.

He'd placed his whole deal in serious jeopardy. He'd already messed up with Tony, and now Tim. He'd avoided a return to jail by the skin of his teeth. He was about to cause serious ructions between Peter and El, neither of whom particularly appreciated any time apart from the other. Viscous and vicious guilt simmered in his gut as he thought of the trouble he'd caused, yet again, and he cleared his throat difficulty. "I want to stick to my decision," he said with a quiet firmness that no matter how angry he was, elicited a glimmer of pride in the exasperated Agent Burke.

He nodded slowly.

"That's a brave decision," he praised softly, before rooting in his pocket for his cell. He was dealing with his own emotional battle. As much as he was loathe and slow to even spank Neal, he was a hell of a lot slower to reinforce whatever lesson he was trying to teach with a few licks from his belt. Closing his eyes wearily he knew he had no choice. If Neal couldn't curtail the reckless streak, which admittedly was getting better, he couldn't prevent the day that would come where it would land him back in a cell. He had pull, but not that kind of pull.

"Are you ringing El to tell her?"

Running a hand through his hair, and already feeling a bout of nervousness, Peter half shook and half nodded his head.

Neal looked at him in confusion.

"I'm ringing her," Peter clarified, "But…"

The call connected, and he held out the phone to a suddenly horrified looking kid.

"You'll be the one telling her."

…

A/N: One more (pretty long) chapter, and I think that's where this one leaves off. Thanks for reading. Apologies for delay in updating, kind of blocked on this one.

…


	12. Location Location Location

Peter watched with little to no sympathy as Neal progressively paled and winced in tandem. The phone call with his wife and his protégée was going as well as he had expected it to, and for once, Peter wasn't going to intervene. Murmuring infrequently and softly into the phone, Neal pleaded with whatever power that existed to bring his suffering to an end. But every time he sent those prayers up he would catch sight of Peter's belt on the table and know there was no help available. He was doomed. Drooping further into his chair, he accepted the remainder of his tongue lashing to beat all tongue lashings with his faultless grace. Unlike with her husband, Neal never tried to barter or negotiate his way out of things with El.

There was absolutely no point.

The call came to an abrupt end, but not before the irate caterer had mellowed some. Warning Neal to heed Peter, she sighed as she murmured careful words of support down the phone. Mad as all hell though she may be, she knew the young man already felt bad enough. That aside, she cleared her throat and relayed a message to Peter that made Neal's blood run cold before she rung off with a soft "stay safe and no more of these stunts Neal, please."

Handing the phone back to a silently watching Peter, the informants face fell dramatically causing the handler to quirk a brow. Neal took a deep breath and resolved to just bite the bullet, all the while thinking that an actual bullet would be a much more humane punishment.

"El told me to give you a message."

Nodding, Peter slipped his cell back into his pocket.

"Oh?"

Chewing his lip, Neal swallowed a most painful groan before doing the inevitable.

"She told me, to tell you, that you're not to have any reservations whatsoever in wearing my butt out. That if we're going to be here for longer than we should because of my actions, then that additional time should be very uncomfortable for me. She…" Neal gulped, but continued. "She said that a solid licking with your belt is something I've had coming for a while, and if that's what it takes to get us home without any more err…shenanigans, I think she said, then so be it."

Peter opened his mouth slowly but apparently the message wasn't quite done.

"She also said that if I put one more toe out of line while we're here, she has vacation days owing."

Agent Burke raised a brow and let out a low, long whistle.

"I think you're the only other person on the planet who annoys my wife as much as I do." Sighing as Neal nodded his head in misery; Peter glanced at the thick belt on the table and sobered himself. "I cannot have your behaviour continue like this," he scolded quietly, knowing his wife had already done a thorough job in that field. "You are an incredibly intelligent and able young man, and to pull off some of the con's you've pulled, you definitely have self control and patience. So clearly, sometimes, you just decide you're not going to bother utilising those traits, right?"

Knowing now was not the time for clever counter arguments, Neal nodded slowly.

"And that is unacceptable," Peter rebuked with a rare firmness. "I'm busting my ass trying to show you a better way, a better life, and you continue to pull these stunts. For no reason, for no reason whatsoever other than you and Tim were bored and drunk. Do you have any idea how angry Agent Gibbs is? How would you like it if I handed you off to him, hmm? Maybe that would get your attention?"

There was a pressing silence as that threat lingered in the air. Neal, who didn't think it to be a genuine warning, shook his head slowly in the hope that the conversation could move on. But what was indeed an idle threat was rapidly becoming something else to the long suffering Agent Burke. Neal needed to be taught a sharp lesson, and he hadn't been in his latest escapade alone. He seemed to think he, Peter, was a soft touch compared to the very gruff Gibbs, so why not use that? This was a lesson he needed the kid to remember for a long time, so why not call in the extra reinforcements.

"I think that's actually a good idea you know," the elder of the pair wondered aloud, "I think you feeling the displeasure of someone who is…what did you say again? Ah yes, someone who is _more horrifying_ than little old me would do you the world of good, don't you? Don't you think you'd be less likely to pull this kind of crap while we're guests of Agent Gibbs and his team if you were to answer to him now, for your disgraceful behaviour?"

Neal was rapidly turning the colour of congealed milk.

This couldn't be happening.

Peter wouldn't do this to him, no matter how mad he was.

He was _Peter_ for crying out loud.

Apparently, he would. Looking on in speechless consternation, Neal watched as Peter stood and plucked his thick belt of the table. Eying his horrified charge firmly, he shrugged as he slid it back into his pants. "Maybe Gibbs needs to borrow this," he explained lightly, as he looked around for the keys of their rental. Throwing them into his pocket, he gave the traditional two finger point at the mute artist. "Up, we're going for a drive. And if I were you, Neal Caffrey, I'd appreciate the comfort of your seating arrangement on the way to Gibbs' place. I have a feeling the ride back might just be a lot more… _bumpy."_

Far from standing, Neal hunched up in his chair even further and shook his head wildly.

"No," he croaked, "You can't do this. Peter, I know you're mad, ok? I know I messed up and I'm sorry. I know you're going to tan my hide for it, and I accept that but _please_ do not…Gibbs, I mean…he's a brute. He's a snarling, snorting, slapping animal. You cannot possibly intend to hand me over to him? Besides, he doesn't even like me…he's not going to…"

The smile on Peter's face was positively alarming.

"Oh, he likes you fine Neal," Agent Burke reassured lightly, "But at the moment, he's very upset. By all accounts, I think Tim is his "good" agent, and I'm sure he feels you've led him astray. So I'm quite sure he's very eager to speak with you. See, I've tried speaking to you and I've tried spanking you. Neither seems to work very well, or for very long. Maybe a set of fresh hands would help, like the way sometimes a fresh set of eyes helps. Don't you think? Now, this is the last time I'll tell you. Stand up, we're going. You don't, and you'll make things worse for yourself. I've had it with repeating myself with you and I've had it with this behaviour. You're going to learn today, one way or the other."

Neal felt the walls swoon dangerously in and out of focus.

"Peter, please I-"

Cutting him off by sweeping around to where he sat, the elder man shook his head firmly. Lifting Neal bodily and yet somehow gently from the chair he quickly placed his foot where the kid had sat. Ignoring the indignant squawking, he easily pushed the light frame over his raised knee. Before Neal could even flush at the childish position, Peter's arm had draped itself firmly around his waist.

The impromptu spanking was fast but it was fierce. When Peter had said he'd had it, he really wasn't joking. Peppering Neal's backside with rapid and strong swats, he paid particular heed to the sensitive sit spots that were so well presented with his knee so high up. The room rang with the sounds of hand to butt and the odd splutter from the draped over recipient of the chastisement. Such a warning spanking would have been over in flash in normal circumstances, but even for Neal, these weren't normal circumstances.

By the time the spanking was over and Peter carefully guided the kid back to his feet, Neal's butt had taken on a thoroughly reddened glow and was smarting terribly. Rubbing his behind with a wounded expression and a flushed face, the young man looked quietly at Peter as he raised a brow. "Would you like to come with me to the car now, or would you like me to bare your butt for you and blister it before we go? Either way, I assure you, we're going."

Neal swallowed deeply as he realised there was no hint of idle threats in the man's promise.

"I'll go now," he practically whispered, continuing to rub his stinging behind, still stunned at the spanking he'd received. Sure, he'd had plenty warning type warming's when he'd pushed Peter too far. But never so hard, and never so long, and _never_ as a horrific appetizer of sorts. "Good," the agent answered calmly, before pointing to the door. "Get your shoes on and let's go then. I don't think you want to annoy Agent Gibbs any more than you've already done, and I'm sure you're just dying to see your new partner in crime, right?"

Neal's look of pleading horror was completely lost on the thoroughly fed up Agent Burke.

"No point giving me those eyes son, your punishment is not up to me this time."

Sighing a moment later, he turned Neal to his side and gave him another searing swat across his butt upon seeing the kid try and slide his shoes under the table and out of view. Dropping another punishing swat for good measure, he cleared his throat before continuing his train of thought.

"It's not up to me because, as the old saying goes, there's a new sheriff in town."

…..

A/N: So if you've read In Loco Parentis, you'll know the reason I haven't updated this story in a while is because I really don't like/hate the way it's turned out. I don't really like this chapter either, but I've had a lot of messages asking me to finish this one, so I'm trying to get back on track with it. Please let me know what you thought because I've never hit a standstill with a story like this, its super annoying.

_Inks.

….


	13. FIN

Peter barely even looked at Neal as the car swung through the still unfamiliar streets. He didn't see the panic that was beginning to build in the usually calm and collected young man. He didn't see the way the usually flawless pose was beginning to sink within itself. He didn't see the characteristically bright eyes cloud over to smokey pools of anxiety. He didn't notice the usually pristine nails being chewed within the cusp of a chattering set of teeth.

He just didn't see.

His anger was for once, completely blinding him.

He wasn't the usual calm, gentle but firm Peter Burke.

The familiar outlay of Gibbs' house soon came into view and the car came to a gliding halt. Throwing his seatbelt off with more force than was necessary, Peter once again refused to even look a Neal as he barked at him. "Out, now." Not even looking to see if he was being obeyed, the irate agent swept up the garden path and was knocking on the door before Neal had even disentangled himself fully. By the time the door was opened he had sidled up behind Peter and was thoroughly on the edge of a sheer mental break. Gibbs didn't react as he opened the door, other than to raise a brow and wave them through.

Standing in the living room as he returned, Gibbs instantly sensed the rift between the two.

"Something I can help you two with?"

Peter nodded curtly. "Yes as a matter of fact, there is something you can help up with Agent Gibbs." He cleared his throat. "I hope you'll forgive the intrusion and I hope you'll oblige me this…unusual request, but I'm pretty much at the end of my rope here and don't know what else to do." Neal shuffled awkwardly beside him and bowed his head, but he continued as if he hadn't seen him. "Neal here seems to have caused nothing but absolute chaos since we've arrived. I would love to say that such chaos is out of character and the DC weather is driving him nuts or something, but that would be a lie. Seeing as he's implicated both Tony and now Tim in his escapades, I was wondering if you would…have a chat with him."

He glanced meaningfully over at the characteristically expressionless Gibbs.

"The same kind of chat you had with your own boys."

Shock slammed into Gibbs as his face remained utterly neutral. He glanced at Neal and felt a stab of pity for the kid. He'd never seen anyone look so intensely miserable and embarrassed at the same time. He was stunned by Peter's request, never having had the man pegged as one who would farm out his responsibilities. He was about to open his mouth and tell the NY native just that when a realisation dawned on him. Peter wasn't a bad guy, far from it. But he was, at that moment, an exhausted guy. Gibbs knew from experience that exhaustion and exasperation can have a man saying and doing things he doesn't mean.

And will bitterly regret.

He cleared his throat.

"Are you asking me to punish Neal in your place?"

If there was a hole in the floor with a ninety nine percent probability of leading directly to the gates of hell, Neal would have leapt headfirst into it. A scarlet hue coated his face as he stifled a groan of misery. Peter, on the other hand, was none so perturbed. "Yes," he answered firmly, "That is precisely what I'm asking you to do. I've had it; I'm at my wits end. I've seen the way your four do as they're told, when they're told. Obviously, I'm missing a trick. I'm out of my depth and I've had enough. So yes, Agent Gibbs, I'm asking for your help."

The slightly elder man raised a brow.

"My help?"

Peter nodded.

"Your help."

Gibbs knew exactly what needed to be done as he nodded his assent. "Alright then." He looked directly at Neal. "Why don't you go on upstairs to Tim? He's…well, I'm sure he'd appreciate the company right now." He gestured to the upper level. "Go on now, hop it." Neal swallowed deeply but didn't dare to disobey the terrifying hulk of a man. Peter didn't even so much as cast one eyeball in his direction as he walked slowly to the stairs. Misery settled in the pit of his stomach. Peter had never done this before, ever. He'd never before acted as if he were both invisible and the greatest inconvenience he'd ever encountered. A trickling sense of rejection began to drip through him as the future suddenly didn't look so clear.

He knocked on the door that seemed like a lifetime since he'd last seen, but in reality it had been a few short hours. "Come in," came a very thin, very strained voice. Pushing open the door slowly, Neal instantly flinched when he saw a tear stained Tim looking back at him, lying on his stomach for very clear reasons. Confusion instantly dogged the NCIS agent's face as he straightened up with a wince and a yelp. Giving up sitting down instantly, Tim hopped to his feet. "What…what are you doing back here?"

Neal looked at the fluffy quality of the bed and McGee's inability to sit and died inside.

"I'm here for your boss to do what he did to you…to me."

Tim's jaw keened open so fast his tonsils quivered angrily at the sudden gust of wind.

"Wh…what?"

Neal slouched slowly to the bed the younger man had vacated and sat on the edge. Bringing his knees up to his chest, he rested his chin miserably upon them and looked upwards. Tim, in that moment, was strongly reminded simultaneously of the saddest and most handsome Springer Spaniel he'd ever met. "Apparently," Neal mumbled quietly, "Peter is sick of me and doesn't know how to deal with me anymore, so he's asked Agent Gibbs to deal with me." Tim was as shocked as his boss had been as he fell into silent surprise, placing a gentle hand on Neal's shoulder.

It was all he could do.

Gibbs extended the cup of coffee and Peter gratefully accepted. Leaning against the kitchen counter as his visitor slumped into a kitchen chair, Gibbs felt a small stab of pity for the man. But by far, his greatest sympathies lay with the impulsive kid that sat upstairs. As infuriated as he'd been over the years with his boys, he simply couldn't imagine handing them over to someone else to deal with. The very thought burned a streak of anger into his gut. He'd kill the man who laid a hand on Tony, Tim or his girls.

"So," he opened quietly, "How would you like me to do it?"

Peter swallowed a mouthful of coffee slowly.

"Huh?"

"Whipping the kid," Gibbs answered conversationally. "Do you want me to use my belt or a two by four or what?" He shrugged slightly. "I suppose it doesn't really matter, it's all the same right?" He swigged some coffee himself. "Should he be able to sit in a week or two weeks? I'm not used to him so…maybe two weeks would be best. Better safe than sorry and all that."

Peter stared across the room.

"Whipping him…whipping?" he echoed quietly, "I…Gibbs, I don't _whip_ him…"

The NCIS agent quirked a brow.

"You want me to tickle him or something?"

Peter gaped over his mug.

"Well…no, but I mean…do you uhh...are you that tough on yours?"

"Oh yeah," Gibbs lied easily, "All the time. In fact I remember a time…was a long time ago actually, Tony was a bit green. But anyway, he'd screwed up royally and I, like you now, had just had enough. I was livid, like an absolute mad man actually. Anyhow, I absolutely leathered the kid. As in I don't think he's ever looked at a tree the same way again. First time I made him cut a switch. They're pretty effective. He got sick and everything, it was pretty bad."

He slugged some more coffee and raised his brows as if struck by a sudden idea.

"You want to me to send Neal out for a switch? Might make a lasting impression."

Peter shook his head so fast the room suddenly spun. "No," he blurted out, louder than he had intended. "Nothing…nothing like that. He doesn't need that kind of…he doesn't need something like that."

"Ok," Gibbs shrugged, "No switch, I'll just use my own imagination."

Feeling his mouth falling open slightly, Peter nodded nervously. Trying his best to relieve himself of those reservations, he reminded himself firmly that nothing he had tried with the kid had worked. He was wasting his time and the boy's deal by pretending he had a handle on him. Neal continued to run rings around him and he was well and truly fed up. A sharp session with Gibbs would do him no harm. Eying the agent silently, Peter chewed his lip. Well…it wouldn't do him irreparable harm…

Setting the coffee mug down, Gibbs threw a hand to the ceiling.

"Well, you just leave him to me and be on your way then. I give you my word that by the time you come back here and get him, he'll be a new Caffrey." He laughed quietly. "He'll be nearly ready for the Marines by the time I'm through with him. You know…" he scratched his chin, "I think this is the best decision you could have made for Neal. That boy needs a firm hand and a good boot in his ass. Everyone's so touchy feely these days, don't you think? With their "atta boy's" and the likes."

He shook his head in feigned disgust.

"What the likes of Neal Caffrey need is somebody who only cares about what he can _do_. They say you're supposed to be invested in your people personally, but honestly, where does that get us?" He gestured upstairs again. "It lands us with people who think they can do what they damn well please. Well, I've seen the light Peter, and now it seems so have you. Like right now for example, McGee is up there thinking that I care about his crying or that I care about the fact I hurt him?" He shook his head to emphasise his lie. "Please. These kids need to toughen up. They're going to be us when we're gone and honestly, I wouldn't like to be around when that happens."

Peter felt his mouth drop faller.

"You…you hurt Tim?"

Gibbs nodded easily, a skilled actor delivering a line.

"Course I did, how the hell else am I supposed to teach him? You think I'm going to have that carry on under my own nose?" He shook his head incredulously. "Not a hope, so sure… I whipped him good and hard and I'm pretty sure I'll not be having any more of that carry on." He wiped a hand across his brow. "Anyway…I best be getting a move on, I feel like Neal is going to be a harder nut to crack…what with not knowing me and all. Kinda personal thing isn't it, easier if you know the guy who's about to tear you up?" He shrugged. "Anyway, you drove here right, you got a ride back?"

Peter stood at Gibbs' ushering but didn't move from the room.

"Uhh….listen, I don't…."

The elder man quirked a brow.

"You don't…what?"

Peter suddenly felt a thunderbolt of realisation strike him. Staring at Gibbs wordlessly, he gaped for what seemed like an eternity. One major point of the other agent's speech stood out to him. The labelling of any punishment being a personal thing. Bile began to rise in his throat. Self disgust filled him as he thought on it. He had been fully prepared to hand Neal over like chattel. Like a cow at auction. That would have been bad, very bad, in its own right. But the kid had already faced so much rejection in his life and he'd sworn, with his wife, never to add to it. And he had. In a fit of anger, he'd betrayed Neal's trust in him and set back the progress he was making with him tenfold. The image of El's face when she heard what he had done swam in his mind's eye.

The hypothetical disgust on his wife's face was an image he would never forget.

"You're not touching him."

The words were said quietly, but they were bursting at the seams with anger. Anger that was directed at himself, a self-anger that was furious in its growth. If he ever forgave himself for this, it would be a long time coming. He looked up at Gibbs and shook his head. "You're not laying a hand on him, understand? This…this was a mistake. We'll be leaving now. I…I apologise for wasting your time. I'll just go and get him…"

There was something about the smirk suddenly playing about Gibbs' lips that triggered him.

A splash of cold realisation drenched him as he stared into those blue eyes.

"You were playing me?"

Gibbs snorted.

"Like a particularly beautiful fiddle, Burke."

Peter stared for a moment before groaning in defeat.

"You son of a bitch."

Gibbs' chuckling wafted pleasantly around the room as he shrugged without repent. He was pleased at the quick progress Peter had made, and was thankful he'd followed his gut and experience. Nothing quietened his anger with any of his four quicker than the thought of any harm coming to them. He thought he saw that similarity in Peter and he was right. "Look," he said, "I know you're pissed as all hell with him. Trust me; there are times when I gladly would have dropped DiNozzo and McGee off the edge of the world. But…sometimes you just gotta breathe and let the moment pass."

Peter nodded slowly, shame still engulfing him.

"I don't know how he's ever going to forgive me for this."

Gibbs appraised the situation silently.

"Kid got a piss poor excuse for a father I take it?"

Peter's quiet jerk of the head was answer enough and Gibbs instantly saw and felt the degree of the man's regret. "The story I told you about switching Tony was bogus," he admitted, to the backdrop of Peter's "you don't _say."_ Grinning, he nodded. "But this story isn't. Let's just say that Tony's father is never going to win any awards. I'm aware of that and I swore down I'd never bring back any of those memories for the kid. But…this one time, he got me so angry. I was shaking with temper and I…well I lost it. I told him that I wanted him off my team as soon as possible. I told him I didn't want the hassle of him anymore, that he was nothing more than a nuisance that caused me nothing but grief. I told him to get the hell out of my sight and find someone else's ankles to hang on to."

Peter let out a low whistle.

"Wow," he muttered quietly, "Looks like I'm in good company."

Grimacing, Gibbs nodded."The point is, Tony…he forgave me. Because he's a solid guy and one of the best second in command's I have ever had. I know I brought back shit from his past for him and I apologised, which isn't something I do. And it took time, and there were some setbacks…but he forgave me. You just need to try. They're not used to anyone trying, so all you have to do is _keep_ trying." He gestured to the ceiling in seriousness for the first time. "Go up there and tell him you're sorry. Send Tim down to me, we're going to step out and give you room."

Peter raised a brow.

"I thought you didn't care about Tim or if he was hurt?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes with a crooked grin.

"Aw shut the hell up Burke and send me down my boy and sort out your own."

Peter grinned far sooner than he had ever anticipated and walked to the doorway, before lingering for a moment. Glancing back into the room, he nodded. "Thanks Gibbs," he said sincerely, "For…well for everything." Grimacing around his coffee mug, the elder man waved Peter away. "Alright alright…just go will ya, it's like a freaking on site Oprah session in here."

Tim had his hand on Neal's shoulder when Peter entered the room.

It was clear from the look on both their faces they were expecting Gibbs.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Agent Burke looked at McGee who shot him a cold look in return. "Uhh…Agent Gibbs would like you to go downstairs Tim," he said quietly. Glancing from Neal to Peter, Tim slowly stood and squeezed Neal's shoulder as he went. Reaching the doorway, he stopped to shoot the eldest of the three another hard look which the agent dutifully swallowed before sweeping from the room. As the door clicked shut, a pressing awkwardness descended. Crossing the room slowly, Peter sat down where Tim had been and glanced down at his hands, taking in a deep breath.

"Neal, I am so sorry son. I am so, so sorry."

The dark head that had been bowed to the floor shot up in surprise. Looking sideways at the elder man, the shock was etched across the boy's face. Peter forced himself to make eye contact as he took a deep breath. "I let you down," he explained simply. "I let my anger get the better of me. I was about to put you in an awful situation because I was too selfish to act my age. I should never even have suggested that Agent Gibbs be the one to punish you. It was totally out of line and only for Agent Gibbs; I wouldn't have seen the terrible thing I was doing to you."

He hesitated, before slowly reaching out and placing a hand on Neal's shoulder.

"I'm really sorry Neal. I don't know if you can forgive me, but I promise you I'll never do anything like this to you again. I'll never treat you like less than you deserve again. I…it's been a long time since I was this ashamed of myself, and I can assure you, El will feel the same."

Neal said nothing for the longest time as he read Peter.

As he read him like a book.

Finally, he spoke, and his voice alone seemed to salve the wound of self loathing lacerating Peter's soul. "You cannot tell El about this. It'd be kinder just to eat your own gun." The sounds of the front door opening and closing disguised Peter's snort of agreement. "I don't care son," he contradicted quietly, "We had an agreement as husband and wife and I let her down as well."

Neal arched a brow.

"What agreement?"

Peter sighed. "That we would never treat you like…that we'd never make you feel like you didn't deserve to be surrounded by people who cared for you. That we'd never make you feel like your place wasn't safe, or permanent. That we'd never make you feel like your actions were something that could take the place from you. And I broke that today. I made you feel like that you were something less than you are. I made you feel like you were too much of an inconvenience for me, or that you were unimportant enough to be cast off to anyone or everyone."

He bowed his head slightly.

"I'm truly sorry Neal."

There was a stretching silence as the lengthy apology was digested. The sincerity of Peter's words were carefully analysed by his charge. He knew when he was being played and he knew when someone was being sincere as all hell. As usual, Peter fell into the latter category. Hurt still clung to him as he remembered the pronouncement of his fate and the car ride over, but…he could forgive him.

Because he wanted to.

And because Peter cared.

Really cared.

"I'll forgive you on one condition."

Peter nodded instantly. "Anything, Neal."

"I can use this as a credit note against any screw up of my choosing?"

Agent Burke stared. Before bursting into a laughter he couldn't quite believe was coming from him. Reaching out he pulled the kid into a one armed hug against his shoulder and used the other hand to ruffle his hair. "When I said anything, I should have said anything within reason," he chuckled, "But nice try son."

Neal was grinning slightly when he was released.

Before the grin slipped off his face.

"Uhh…if Agent Gibbs isn't going to…well if he's not going to punish me, does that mean…."

Peter grimaced as he nodded.

"As wrong as I've been and as poorly as I've acted, I'm afraid you still need to be punished for your actions last night Neal. Now…given what's just happened, I truly understand if you want to go down the formal route with this. If you can't…trust me, I understand. Honestly I do." He squeezed Neal's shoulder once more. "It's up to you this time kiddo, you have a choice. My way or Hughes' way and I will stand by your decision without question."

Neal looked at him silently for a moment before sighing in resignation.

"I trust you Peter."

As much as he was loathe to reprimand Neal in that moment, his answer was a staggering relief. Nodding quietly with a small smile, Peter un-cuffed his right sleeve and rolled it up to his elbow. The young man looked on silently for a moment, before saying something that he would later look back on as truly stupid. "I thought you were going to use your…belt?" Looking up from his sleeve, Peter nodded silently as he spied something on the bedside table. Reaching across and examining the obsessively expensive hairbrush that belonged to Tony, he quirked a brow at Neal. "I think this will do instead son," he countered quietly, "You've had a rough morning and I think I can make my point without using a belt."

He pointed to the position Neal was uncomfortably comfortable with.

"Come here."

After a small moment of resistance, the kid slowly stood and moved into the allocated spot.

Peter looked up at him with a suddenly stern expression.

"Why am I about to spank you right now?"

Neal flushed vigorously as he shuffled on the spot. But he knew better than to try and answer covertly. It was always better to bite the bullet. "Because I dabbled in the private data of the museum, because I screwed up our stay here and because I ran this morning rather than face you." Peter nodded slowly, intensely grateful for the kid's forthcoming answer. Placing the heavy brush down beside him, he tilted his head to the side. "Is that the kind of behaviour you promised me when we were in the airport? Or did you promise me to be the professional young man with so much to offer that we both know you can be?"

Neal flushed and looked at the floor.

"The latter."

Peter nodded thoughtfully.

"Do you think this is what I want to do, Neal? Do you think this is how I want to spend our morning, me causing you pain? Do you think that's some kind of fun for me?"

Neal looked scandalised.

"No," he blurted, "I know it's not…I know you hate it…"

Peter sighed fondly.

"You're damn right I hate it. Damnit Neal, do you know why I lecture you so much? It's because I hate doing this. It's because I want to put this off until I really can't anymore. And now I'm starting to wonder is that wrong of me, if you need a firmer hand? If you need a sharp pain across your butt instead of a few sharp words from my mouth?"

Neal blanched.

"No… _no,"_ he insisted wildly, "I don't think that would help."

Peter shook his head slowly, unconvinced.

"Well, let's put that to the test," he mumbled. "Hands behind your back please, Neal." There was a moment where the elder man feared the kid would flat out refuse, but after a last pleading look, the young man slowly did as he was bid. Not wanting to draw the whole ordeal out any longer than necessary, Peter reached out and firmly unbuckled the slacks and drew them down to Neal's knees. Pointing at his own knee, he raised a brow and resolved to teach a memorable lesson.

"Over."

Groaning loudly, Neal obeyed.

Quickly pulling the tails of the kid's shirt that smelled faintly of liquor up out of the way, Peter wrapped a hand around his waist. The dark head was instantly deposited into folded arms as he tugged him closer. "I never want to have to do this again for such foolish behaviour. It's truly beneath you Neal, do you understand me?" He didn't expect a verbal answer, so the miserable nod he received was acceptable. After a moment of indecision, Peter removed his arm and used it to tug Neal's boxers down to his knees.

This needed to be a lesson not to be soon forgotten.

By the huffing he heard in response, it was already underway.

Peter was a methodical man, and that translated through into his method of punishment. His spanking was never erratic or uncontrolled. He set out to ensure that Neal's unfortunate behind would take on a universal shade of deep red, with no area escaping unscathed. The first swat set the tone, and it was searing. Holding Neal firmly, Peter settled in quickly, his broad hand falling into a punishing sequence. He would be the first to admit that he was really laying into the kid as he leathered his hand across the prone backside. The pale white that had been present a mere minute or so ago was rapidly giving away to a glimmering pink.

Neal let out a yelp as a particularly hard smack crashed across both cheeks simultaneously.

There were no words spoken as the punishment geared up. Tim and Tony's room rang with the sounds of hand meeting backside, but for the first time, it wasn't one of theirs. It wouldn't be long, and both Neal and Peter knew it, before McGee's duvet would be damp with tears. Neal was always as stoic as possible for as long as possible. But it was a rarity that Agent Burke bared the kid's butt from the offset, and the lack of protection was clearly having the desired effect. Neal began to squirm vigorously as his rear end went from pink to crimson.

Tugging him closer still, Peter landed a firm swat to the reddened cheeks.

"Stay still Neal," he chided quietly, "You have this coming and I want this butt where I can reach it."

The squirming quietened down but the yelping ramped up. Hearing the sounds of the kid's distress when all he wanted to do was comfort him was hard, but Peter knew he couldn't let that deter him. Closing his heart to the whimpering and the odd "I'm sorry Peter, please…" he continued on his course until the ache in his hand let him know a change was necessary. Picking up the brush beside him, he tapped it lightly on the extremely reddened behind.

"If you had stayed this morning and accepted your punishment, you wouldn't be getting this right now. You never run from me, Neal Caffrey, if you've done something wrong you face me like the man you are. I know you're more than capable of doing so, so I also know that this morning was a self indulgent stunt and it's one you're going to regret mister."

With that, he snapped the thick brush down hard.

It instantly had the desired effect.

Neal yowled under its thudding sting.

Peter quickly put the brush to good use and it wasn't long before snuffling and sniffling could be heard. Applying a thick coat of red to the tender and well chastised sit spots, the snuffling and sniffling broke out into soft weeping. Biting his lip against the sounds of the kid's misery, Peter continued to wail on the upturned butt. "You best be thinking about how Tim felt in here getting _his_ tail warmed as well, Neal," he rebuked firmly, "Because we both know this infernal idea wasn't his." With that, Neal went limp across his knee as the brush continued to fall.

With staggering relief, Peter realised they were nearly done.

"What did I say would happen if I caught you behaving like this again?"

Neal choked out between his tears the answer he dearly didn't want to give, but knew for his behind's sake, he had to. "That I'd better learn to love….my apartment with all my heart…" he sniffed loudly, "Because that would be the only place I'd be seeing for a long time."

Resuming the spanking that he had briefly stopped, Peter nodded.

"Uh huh, and I meant it. So you better believe that when we _eventually_ get home buddy, you're on house arrest till kingdom come. No radius, no Mozzie, no nothing. Nada. And don't think I don't know that El sneaked you over some of her pie and those fancy art magazines the last time you landed in this position. Don't think it's going to be happening again."

Neal's groan was heard plainly through his soft crying.

Within a moment, the last swat had fallen and the brush was quietly replaced.

Carefully rectifying Neal's clothing so as to ensure his dignity, Peter winced with the kid with the cotton met his scorched behind. Usually Agent Burke would let the kid cry out his sorrow over his knee until he was ready to rise himself, but with the unusually charged morning between them, he found he couldn't. With gentle hands, he positioned the kid off of his knee and into a seating position beside him. Before he could reach out and pull him into a hug, Neal had thrown himself into his chest, his wet face dampening Peter's shirt as he clung to him. Instinctively wrapping his arms around his charge, the elder man buried his face into the mop of thick hair and sighed. Guilt still radiated through him and he knew it would be there for a while, but in that moment he was intensely grateful just to have Neal there.

Albeit a very morose Neal.

Minutes trickled by and not a word was exchanged. Peter merely rubbed soothing circles on the boy's back and held him closely. When Neal did eventually wriggle out of his arms and speak, it brought a smile to Peter's face and lessened some of the bubbling guilt in his gut.

"As much as I hate what just happened, it's easier to take because it's you."

Tucking the kid under the chin, the elder of the two smiled a kind smile.

"I'll remind you that you said that when you're calling me names under your breath."

Neal pretended to look outraged.

"I never-"

"Neal…"

A wry grin was grinned, offset by watery eyes and a flushed face, and a shrug of the shoulders offered. Reaching out and grasping the kid by the shoulders, Peter was serious for a moment. "I want you to promise me that if you have any issues with how I acted today, that you won't get yourself into grief by acting out on them. You'll come to me, Neal, and talk to me. I need you to promise me that. The idea of you getting yourself into difficulty because I was an asshole is…I can't handle it." He stared directly at the kid with intensity. "Promise me?"

Neal stared straight back for a moment before nodding.

"I promise."

Peter smiled a genuine smile.

"You're a good kid, you know that? When you want to be."

Neal snorted as he got up and rubbed vigorously at his scorched behind.

"I'll have you know I'm a fully qualified adult and do all manner of adult like things."

Peter arched a brow.

"Like tricking Jones into writing three out of five of your last reports? That kind of adult thing?"

Neal blanched.

"Uhh…"

Rolling his eyes, Peter also stood and threw an arm around Neal's shoulders. "Save it kid, my arm doesn't have enough power for any more _Caffrey-ness_ today anyhow." Over the sounds of Neal's victorious chuckling, the two walked down the stairs before reaching the bottom and looking at each other.

"Uhh…what are we meant to do here?"

At that moment, the door opened once more, Gibbs having timed the situation perfectly. Spilling into the hallway, Tim's voice was indignant. "I'm just saying Boss, that if we had even a slight increase in our tech budget we could be at least ten times more efficient in inter-agency transfer and…" His voice trailed off as both NCIS men spied both White Collar men in the hallway. Gibbs' face broke into a knowing smile and Tim felt a stab of relief at the obvious calm coming from Neal.

All four stared at each other for a moment before Gibbs cleared his throat and hoisted the grocery bag he was carrying into the air.

"Who's hungry?"

He glanced at Peter and winked.

"My cookers blown, but I'm pretty sure we can fry up some eggs on Tim and Neal's behinds?"

The two team leaders chuckled with laughter as they strode into the kitchen as the two boys made wildly unacceptable faces at them behind their backs, before looking at each other and laughing quietly. Setting the bag down in the kitchen table, Gibbs and Peter's voice seemed to float out in horrifying tandem, causing both Tim and Neal to flinch and freeze.

"I saw that."

….

FIN

A/N: Like I said, I truly dislike the way this story turned out. Therefore, I'm going to leave it here. I've tried to make this chapter longer to compensate for those who were enjoying this one, but I don't feel like I can go any further with it. I never actually intended for Gibbs to deal with Neal, I just wanted Peter to not be perfect all the time. Thank you for all the follow, favourites and reviews however, they were truly helpful on this one! Maybe I'll revisit the joint world of NCIS and WC one day, who knows! Till then!

_Inks

….


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